


Hypnopompic

by LiberaMeLuminis



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Alternate Universe, Experimental, M/M, Multi Chapter, Platonic Love, Slow Build, aka Librarian AU gone terribly wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4709804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiberaMeLuminis/pseuds/LiberaMeLuminis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shinji Ikari spends his days in Nerv Library, where time doesn’t seem to have a set course and the differences between dreams and reality are only skin-deep.<br/>That is, of course, the status quo, until Kaworu Nagisa comes into the library. He doesn’t intend to leave without taking something with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carousel Anomaly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Looks like it’s destined to be yet another cringefest” – Ashini

The sky was gray. 

Shinji would have pointed it out, had Asuka Langley Soryu not already made it clear that she despised when lowlifes spoke about the plainly obvious. She would have tolerated such offhand talk if, perhaps, Shinji spoke of how the sky was dreary and bleak like a mirror reflecting on his own dull image. Asuka Langley Soryu would have appreciated the self-deprecation. It was a sad misfortune, then, that Shinji was not one graced with even a mediocre sense of romantic or poetic speech for one working in an establishment filled with romance novels and poems. 

Asuka Langley Soryu would belittle Shinji best she could as if it was what gave her whole life purpose. It was like something akin to a cruel catharsis. He’d try to retaliate, try to cause her as much distress as she did him, but would fall short because of his restraint that Asuka Langley Soryu lacked, but in the end his tongue wasn’t as sharp. The cycle would repeat, and every single time Shinji found himself wishing he had the gall to chastise her and tell her libraries were supposed to be quiet.

It wasn’t that Nerv library was always filled with the mocking shouts of Asuka Langley Soryu, of course. Shinji was glad that Rei Ayanami wasn’t like that, but one could never be quite sure about what exactly she was. Some days it even seemed like she wasn’t entirely sure herself. She would barely acknowledge the shortcomings of Shinji or the brashness of Asuka Langley Soryu. No, Rei Ayanami would just wade through the day with her stoic mask locked safely in place, apathetic when it came to the incidents between her co-workers.

If Asuka Langley Soryu was expressive, then Rei Ayanami was repressed. When Shinji asked her about why she never spoke of anything other than the work she was given, she had taken a moment to think and replied with a curt “I don’t see the point.” 

They were like fire and ice. They even _looked_ like it. Shinji was trapped, inevitably, in the middle.

Only one fact remained clear in his head. The sky was gray.

Had it always been that way? 

“There you go again, with your pointless questions,” Asuka Langley Soryu would have shouted while kicking him in the shins, her voice painfully close to his ear and striking the preexisting quietude like a battalion of drums. “Of course not! Are you an idiot?” 

Rei would be silent.

If it wasn’t always that way, it would be now. Wasn’t the sky really a mirror? 

“So you _are_ an idiot!” 

Every once in a while Misato would sneak inside the walls of Nerv Library to check on her employees. She was gone most days. Nobody had bothered to ask where she went, for nobody cared much at all for what affairs went on outside. She would observe Shinji and Asuka Langley Soryu’s one-sided fights for a day, lips pursed and eyes narrowed with a whirlwind of emotions that looked akin to guilt when she thought they weren’t looking. Misato would leave just as subtly as she came, for despite her attempts at care and sympathy she made no impact on their toxic mannerisms.

Sometimes the library would be deathly quiet on her visits. Shinji would find himself staring at Misato without either of them noticing or realizing, just staring at her fondle her cross-shaped pendant before gripping it tightly in her hand as if to strangle it. Shinji knew her parents were gone, gone just as his had been, and they both found tranquility in ridding themselves of their family names to ease the scars. Sometimes the scars would feel like fresh wounds.

On particularly moody days, Asuka Langley Soryu would even go so far as to abandon her work to shoot bullets in the shape of words at Shinji, to claw and rip those wounds she normally wouldn’t touch. “Ikari,” she would whisper with the same intensity as if she were screaming in his ear. “No wonder your father left a pitiful child like you.” Shinji felt something in her words that made him believe that those words weren’t just directed at himself. He shook away those thoughts.

Asuka Langley Soryu tied her name with brilliance. Unlike Shinji, she had already passed college at a young age. Unlike Shinji, she had actually tried. 

Most days Rei Ayanami seemed as if she didn’t care what her name meant. She disregarded Asuka Langley Soryu’s mocking calls of “Wonder Girl” as much as she did anything else.

Shinji swore the sky was darker when Rei thought of herself.

Within the first week of Shinji’s work history with the library, he started to think that Misato only hired those plagued with social ineptitude. In two weeks, he believed it. In three, he knew it for certain. In a month, he could tell it went far past that.

At first his shifts seemed to take weeks to pass by. A few times he had shared them with Rei Ayanami, making him anxious if it was her air of disinterest or his disinteresting life that made her so devoid of sound. When he had finally accepted it to be a truth of her, he found himself sinking and drowning in his thoughts until the hours passed and he was shaken back into reality by her monotone voice telling him it was time to leave. The same amount of times he had shared them with Asuka Langley Soryu, and that only drove him deeper into self-loathing.

The library was a battleground when all three were there.

The number of shifts they all shared grew and grew until they spent most of their lives together. It was as if they were both alive and dead; wishing desperately to leave yet when they managed to do so finding themselves in a strange state of familiar comfort at the library. It was akin to a birdcage: the few and far between customers would stick a finger or two inside but would never truly enter and trap themselves.

Nearly two weeks into September, someone had come in.

The sky wasn’t gray that day. It was cloudless.

It was blue. Undeniably and undoubtedly the purest and the perfect shade of blue. 

 

::

 

Nerv Library was situated in the corner of a street block, though that particular street was prone to being empty and deserted. Plastic bags and tin cans would fly by, too weak and light to fight against the wind, dancing on the air like memories left to decay. No matter the day or hour, only a few would walk on the chipped sidewalks and roads that bordered the establishment. Shops and markets that were stationed around the library like guards hardened with age were littered with trash and traces of life, grass and weeds infesting the cracks between the floorboards and cement. The front of the library had large windows that stretched high and wide. Something to let those inside calmly study the decimated scenery without subjecting themselves to risk.

The thought of leaving his job at the library never once crossed Shinji’s or Asuka Langley Soryu’s or Rei Ayanami’s minds. It had snuck into their lives, integrated itself as a part of their everyday routine, until it had become the core of that routine. They needed it as much as it needed them, professionally and not.

Shinji, Asuka Langley Soryu, and Rei Ayanami fit together like puzzle pieces. They completed each other, if only barely. 

Asuka Langley Soryu was sitting perched on a counter filled to the brim with papers that nobody bothered to read until now. The sound was from her kicking the cabinet drawer back into place. Only a minute or two earlier had she hefted the drawer open, its rusty and old metal pieces groaning with high, squeaky creaks, in order to pry sheets of various unorganized studies from its steel grasp. Paging through the papers, her eyes flitting back and forth only catching the words that stood out and truly mattered like “black hole” and “psychoanalysis” and “double helix”, she quickly grew tired of their contents.

“Honestly, what does Misato expect us to do in this rotting place?” Her eyes peered in disgust at the papers she clutched in her hands, sparkling in such a way as if to say that the idea to tear them clean in half was forming in her mind at the very moment. “Hardly anybody comes over anyways!”

Shinji wanted to say how Misato had been kind enough to hire them all, how she had wanted to restore the library to its former glory, but he found an unsettling truth in Asuka Langley Soryu’s words. She was right, completely right. At first, the library had quite a few regular customers who stopped by. Nowadays, they’d be lucky to see someone in the time frame of a week. How Misato had even found the money to pay them was a mystery.

He stopped in his tracks, gazing down in heart-pounding paranoia at the books he was currently shelving. Nobody ever checked out books anymore, and the three of them could only read so many generic, recycled words before their eyes strained and started to water. Where did these novels come from?

The library was like that. Always giving them something to do.

As if it was trying to keep them preoccupied.

The thoughts lingered only for a second before he snapped out of his daze. Shinji thought he had already broken that awful habit. He bit his chapped lip, curiosity making him want to draw iron-tasting blood but the pain stopping him halfway, feeling a sudden jealousy for Rei Ayanami’s indifference for anything that could prevent her from doing work. Did she have such thoughts about the library as Asuka Langley Soryu and Shinji had? He could only imagine.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Asuka Langley Soryu had jumped onto the storage cabinet in the time that Shinji spent delving into his thoughts with a noiselessness that was uncanny and almost unsettling for her. Her next actions did not share the same sentiment. She stretched out her legs then pulled them back, the heels of her shoes hitting against the cabinet and producing thundering sounds. Again and again she kicked aimlessly, the disruptive sounds becoming something akin to an unsteady rhythm.

Asuka Langley Soryu acted and yelled when threatened by boredom. Shinji thought and thought, for better or for worse. Rei Ayanami didn’t get bored. To be bored, one must first be interested.

“Hey, Shinji?” The kicks stopped.

Shinji had averted his gaze beforehand, despite the ruckus she made. Asuka Langley Soryu seemed insistent on calling him a filthy pervert whenever he glanced at her for too long. She always seemed to be reminding herself more than him, but he never brought that observation up for the sake of dodging more insults. Now she was talking to him, without any hint of spite in her voice. This was new. He tried to give a smooth “Hm?” in reply, but it ended up being a raspy grunt. As if he had expected anything more than that.

“Ever think of ditching?”

The words “ditching what?” were left unspoken. Instead, Shinji tacitly cleared his throat.

“Work. The library.” At these words, Shinji hesitantly peeked at Asuka Langley Soryu. She wasn’t looking back at him, no, she was staring at the entrance doors, her cerulean eyes boring holes through the aged mahogany wood to see an equally blue sky.

Shinji shook his head, then realized that Asuka Langley Soryu seemed too busy trying to mentally burn down the wooden door to notice his movements. Stumbling over basic words, he managed to reply saying, “I don’t think that ever crossed my mind.” His frown deepened at the notion. She could almost hear her leering retort, which naturally would come after a high mocking laugh. It would probably something about the denseness of his skull. 

It never came. 

Asuka Langley Soryu, for the first time Shinji had noticed, seemed lost in thought. She drew up her left leg, bending her knee so she could lean her head on her thigh. It looked like it felt uncomfortable and felt as uncomfortable as it looked, but she wasn’t one to speak like a weakling on such petty manners. Instead, she wrapped her lengthy arms around her leg in order to pull it closer, and let out a breath.

They stayed like that for minutes. How many, Shinji couldn’t say. He felt unnerved by Asuka Langley Soryu’s stillness, and, without realizing, started to clutch the books in his hands tighter and tighter until his knuckles became white and the pain started to become a pleasant buzz. For a moment, he thought she was sleeping, before his eyes connected with hers and he saw the intensity of its watchful gaze.

He would not break the air of tranquility that settled and hung like a hazy autumn fog. Asuka Langley Soryu seemed not to want to. Rei Ayanami was in the back, out of sight and out of mind.

Suddenly, Asuka Langley Soryu jerked up, her head promptly crashing back into the wall. Her eyes narrowed in disbelief that could have been easily mistaken for a boiling rage. She seemed to await something with a quiet dread, the same fear that came with the unknown and that which she was unprepared to fight against. Shinji found himself turning his head ever so slowly towards the door.

The door had opened as soon as his vision cleared and focused in on it. A bell tinkled lightly, and the solitude of their sanctuary was broken.

A young man stepped in, though Shinji wasn’t quite sure what age he was, for his face seemed young and clear with no noticeable marks of age or tiredness, and his limbs seemed lanky and lean and awfully long. His hair and eyes must’ve been the confusing part. The soft, wispy clumps of hair were silver in the light, perhaps gray in the shadows. And those eyes, those impossibly bright eyes were crimson and searching and piercing, as if they could stare right through you in a way that made you terribly visible.

Shinji knew, of course. He knew because he was more visible than he had ever felt for his entire life, impaled and pinned down in place by those eyes. 

The stranger’s smile seemed to widen when he saw that he had managed to get Shinji’s attention. Shinji couldn’t imagine _why_ someone would be excited at that prospect, for he was hardly the most interesting person in that particular situation.

He opened his mouth to speak, to offer the stranger help, but Asuka Langley Soryu’s trained mouth was quicker than his less experienced one. “What do you need?” He hoped he was wrong in detecting the slightest bit of anger and a large amount of irritation in her voice, but then again the stranger was just _standing there_ , apparently more than content with furthering Shinji’s social anxiety rather than reading books.

The stranger didn’t seem to be phased by Asuka Langley Soryu’s outburst. He didn’t turn his head, only shifting his gaze from Shinji onto Asuka Langley Soryu, leaving Shinji to relax and let go of a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Ah, I’m looking for bilingual dictionaries.” He paused for a second, watching Asuka Langley Soryu’s inquisitive reaction with a bemused expression. “Any of them will do,” he added as an afterthought.

For a lack of a better thought to occupy himself with, Shinji began to wonder what song the stranger’s melodious voice reminded him of. Did Ode to Joy fit? 

Asuka Langley Soryu’s mouth hung open as if she was reaching for the word “Any?” that Shinji was sure she was going to say. She shook her head, apparently regaining her wits and pride (which she appeared to have lost after hurting her head), and slid off the cabinet. “I’ll ask Rei where the dictionaries are,” she muttered humbly, barely loud enough for anyone standing more than a few yards away to hear, throwing the words over her shoulder as she sped off behind shelves of books.

The stranger and Shinji were alone now, left to stare at each other openly – the stranger with the same intrigued look, and Shinji with pounding anxiousness. It was the same feeling, the same feeling of being cornered that made it so very ironically _difficult_ to look away. 

Was this all just a ploy, a plan designed by Asuka Langley Soryu to make Shinji crack under pressure? Surely it must have been, for no person in their right mind would come to the decaying Nerv Library and ask for _bilingual dictionaries_ of all things. Asuka Langley Soryu seemed to have run away in distraught, however. Was she just as unsettled by the stranger’s ghostly and pale appearance as Shinji was? 

This all just didn’t make sense.

“Aren’t names quite a curious thing, Shinji Ikari?” The stranger’s eyes moved up from his silver nametag that he had long forgotten existed and rested on his face once more. How he could read the tiny engraved letters from so far away was beyond Shinji’s understanding, just another mystery to add to the pile. “My name is Kaworu Nagisa. You can call me Kaworu.” He raised a hand to his chest, his wry smile never faltering as if he knew something Shinji did not. 

Achieving that status would be easy, for Shinji did not know much at all. But it was not his smile, but his eyes that made him look like he knew something the entirety of humanity did not.

Shinji started to feel quite light-headed and faint. Whatever did he do to deserve this?

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Kaworu had walked to the shelves closest to the doorframe, eyes shifting from the books and back to Shinji. “For such a large and extensive library, I have yet to see anybody but you three pass by. Why is that?”

Shinji swore that Kaworu, with his confident grin and all-too-wise eyes, already knew the answer.

“I... I wouldn’t know,” Shinji forced the words out, sticking his hands in his pockets rather abruptly. “I’m not sure how I feel about it either. We really don’t have any responsibilities or anything to do.” He stopped speaking, the creeping notion that Kaworu would be able to coax out any truth from him crawling into his mind. The idea both terrified and weirdly consoled him. It was, he supposed, those dual emotions that made most things worthwhile.

Kaworu reached out to grab a book, pointer finger hooking the section of the hardcover which jutted out over its spine and flipped through it absentmindedly, humming as if his mind was buzzing with thoughts that were restless and couldn’t stay inside. “What an anomaly…” Closing the book with a satisfying thud, he placed it back with care. “I suppose I’ll have to stay here far longer than I originally thought.”

“What do you mean?” Normally Shinji would have preferred to keep his mouth shut than stammer out a question, but Kaworu was anything but normal. So much so that his abnormalities seemed to seep into everything he touched.

“You’ll understand soon, I hope. No need to worry about it now.” Kaworu beamed. The thought that the smile was perfectly genuine appeared in the back of Shinji’s mind, but he brushed it away for the sake of listening to the words that flowed out of Kaworu’s mouth like a river following its course. It was incredibly nice, that voice, and Shinji figured that he could listen to it recite every word in the aforementioned bilingual dictionaries and still be content.

Maybe this oddity wasn’t so bad if it was planning on replacing Asuka Langley Soryu’s razor-edged words with soft and pleasant ones.

…Speak of the devil.

Asuka Langley Soryu appeared from behind a shelf on the opposite side of the library that she had disappeared from, apparently having taken it upon herself to weakly carry a stack of bilingual dictionaries. Her knees wobbled from the unforeseen work – they had gotten far too used to being idle all day. Shinji tore his gaze away from Kaworu and rushed to help her, only earning an electric glare. He wasn’t quite sure if it was the weight of the dictionaries or simply the sake of good first impressions that kept her from kicking him in the knee, but he was thankful for his fortune nonetheless.

She dumped the dictionaries on the table closest to Kaworu, leaving them sprawled across the surface, some of the covers bent back to reveal the thin pages inside. Kaworu chuckled, light and airy, and started to quickly scan the titles. “My condolences,” he apologized while taking in how many books Asuka Langley Soryu had placed down. “Perhaps I should have specified that one was enough.”

It was, indeed, an admittedly huge collection of dictionaries. Shinji even spotted some lexicons and seemingly random mixes of languages in the bountiful pile. Asuka Langley Soryu tried her best to scowl, huffing and pushing haphazard hair behind her ear. “You’d better appreciate it.” She turned on her heel, hair spilling out behind her, and stomped away. 

It seemed as if her bitter and barbed words had dulled. 

“Sorry,” Shinji mumbled, quickly spitting out an apology by instinct. “She’s usually not the nicest person.” He was feverishly rubbing the back of his head now, but waved his hands in front of him once he had realized he had spoken out loud. “I mean! Uh, well, I guess I’m not really someone who should be judging her. I, I’m sorry.” Another apology. 

“It’s quite alright.” Unbeknownst to one such Shinji Ikari, Kaworu Nagisa found it very endearing when the other was flustered. 

If Shinji was ready to apologize at any given time, then Kaworu Nagisa was willing to smile at any given time. That was a fact now.

The sky wasn’t gray anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original title was Hold Onto Your Words if that says anything.
> 
> I haven’t written actual fanfiction in a couple of years (so I'm pretty nervous posting this ahhh). The writing of this one was fueled half by my need for Kawoshin fics that don’t inadvertently piss me off and half by me getting random ideas at 4 in the morning while over-thinking Evangelion and Utena.
> 
> I imagine I have a pretty weird writing style, but hopefully that isn’t a problem.


	2. Enigmatic Lucidity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on this fanfic makes me question the validity of my spelling of Asuka’s last name.

The library closed at 9 PM when the sickly summer-like heat that was so frequent in Tokyo-3 died down and became an ever-so-slightly humid night. Somehow, Kaworu Nagisa (who had appeared at approximately 3 in the afternoon; Shinji couldn’t recall for he didn’t care much for repeatedly checking the time) managed to survive the negativity that practically oozed out from the three employees of Nerv Library and stayed nearly an hour past that time until Asuka Langley Soryu demanded him to leave.

Shinji wasn’t even sure if he was surprised by the fact that Asuka Langley Soryu allowed him to keep her there overtime instead of throwing him out as soon as their shifts ended. The day was full of surprises, the biggest one of all being that he was slowly getting used to them.

Kaworu Nagisa turned out to be a better conversationalist than the other three people who were currently inside the library. It seemed as if he knew when Shinji wanted to say something, as he would stop the incessant stream of words to let the other say something in edgewise. He’d wait, sliding to the edge of his seat, mouth closed in bated breath. The first time, Shinji wanted to ask about his bizarre choice in reading material.

Shinji had plopped down on the chair opposite Kaworu’s, feeling slightly obligated to make their first customer in such a very long time feel welcome, and observed him turn page after page in the dictionary he held in his hand: German to French. In that time, Kaworu had started humming like he had before, and it was almost painful to break that wonderful sound.

“Why – well – why come here? To this library, I mean. You could find these anywhere, right?” He jerked his arm out from underneath the table to point awkwardly at the scattered dictionaries, swallowing down a shaky breath.

“I have several matters to investigate regarding Nerv library,” Kaworu answered, gaze moving from the page to Shinji’s slightly chagrin stare. “If I was going to stay here for long, I might as well do something. You can never really tell when knowing the words of another tongue will do you good until that time is upon you.” He sighed. “I have quite a high affinity for learning, so it was only a matter of time before I tried this.”

The second question came after he confronted the swirling abyss of thoughts in his head about the so-called investigation, thoughts he was too nervous to voice. “How old are you?” He felt the faint pull of regret tug on his lips immediately after he asked.

“Before that, Shinji, how old are you?”

He never thought to lie. “22.”

“There you have it,” Kaworu stated plainly in such a way that made him think he knew the Shinji’s before he had even opened his mouth. “I am 22, like you.”

It was an eerie sensation, knowing that he had something in common with Kaworu. It almost seemed too good to be true.

The two sat there for ten, fifteen, twenty, nearing thirty minutes. Kaworu had taken it upon himself to start humming again, songs Shinji both knew and couldn’t seem to remember hard as he tried. It was peaceful, almost serene, and Shinji found himself wondering why he never seemed to sense those awful waves of apathy that came hand-in-hand with Rei’s silence when it came to Kaworu.

Rei Ayanami. 

Shinji hadn’t seen her today yet. He knew she came earlier than her by a long shot - always one hour before the library would open. Where was she? He pulled his eyes away from Kaworu, not noticing how the other had seen the sudden movement in his peripheral vision and was slowly growing worried, and scanned the shelves and tables around him. Nerv Library didn’t seem so large from the outside, but inside there was a gargantuan amount of space that was filled with such a wide variety of decorations from hanging pots of flowers to posters that seemed to cover certain walls like wallpaper. When was the last time he made his way through the whole establishment?

Had he ever done so?

“Is something bothering you, Shinji?” Shinji could tell that Kaworu knew the answer. He nodded anyways, his head springing down and up so quickly that if Kaworu blinked he would have missed it, and turned back to face his companion. Kaworu was perceptive that way – he didn’t need to ask Shinji exactly what was making him so jittery, for he already knew that Shinji was about to answer either way. It was a simple relationship made complex by their persons.

“I haven’t seen Rei today,” he slouched, looking down at his hands that were moving around restlessly on his lap. “Uh, well, Rei is my co-worker. Actually,” he studied Kaworu a bit as if he wasn’t doing that for a time far past what was considered normal before, “she looks a lot like you.”

“I’ve noticed.” The pale blue hair and empty red eyes flashed in his head, both mirroring and contrasting his own eyes that were swimming with emotions and ideas that he could never truly siphon out.

“Yeah… you’ve said before that you’ve seen us walking here.” Shinji frowned, the edges of his lips turning down slightly. “But, wouldn’t I – I mean, we – have seen you too? You’re kind of hard to forget.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Kaworu smiled, apparently trying to compensate for Shinji’s ever-growing glower. His eyes shifted past Shinji, fixating on the person who was currently glaring at the two with lips bent and pulled in an expression of distaste. “Hello Asuka,” he acknowledged her presence, having immediately inspected her nametag and relaying the first word, having figured it would be better to let Shinji know instead of letting her continue on with whatever she hoped to accomplish. Spying perhaps? He almost wanted to laugh at the thought.

Her scowl deepened when she realized that the amicable greeting was directed at her and spat out a curse under her breath. “It’s Asuka Langley Soryu to you.”

“That would make it Asuka Langley Soryu to everyone, wouldn’t it?” He tilted his head to the side as if in confusion, making her even more irritated at the feigned innocence in the gesture.

Shinji’s head swiveled back and forth, trying to make sense of the confrontation. Asuka Langley Soryu’s annoyance seemed to take physical form, the air around him choking him with anxiety in response to her vexation.

She tried her best to disregard Kaworu’s question, instead pacing up to Shinji and grabbing him by the shirt collar roughly. Her earlier humility at Kaworu’s appearance had disappeared for good, it had seemed. “Idiot, you can’t just sit around doing nothing all day! It’s been nearly an hour,” she snarled as her finger pointed to the multiple mismatched clocks that hung above the reception desk. “Do something for once!” Her grip loosened purposely, making Shinji drop back on his chair as she towered over him. Giving one last look filled with unspoken apologies to Kaworu, he crawled off to the cart of books that he was organizing before.

Kaworu waved a goodbye to Shinji, then focused his attention back on Asuka Langley Soryu. He nodded to the chair Shinji had been sitting in before, knowing full well that she wanted to talk to him underneath all the spite. At this, she glared even harder, and instead pulled back and sat in the squashy armchair next to it. Whether it was because he had predicted her actions or that he thought she would touch anything Shinji had was still up for guessing. 

His personal hypothesis was that it was both. Human motivations were complicated, he knew that better than anybody.

“I would appreciate it if you’d be kinder to him,” he started, breaking the agitated silence. “Attacking him like that doesn’t do much to aid me.”

She curled her hand into a fist, knuckles becoming almost as pale as Kaworu as she seethed in indignation. “What makes you think I’d want to help the likes of you?” The words were forced out through gritted teeth, and as much as she wanted them to bring down Kaworu’s calmness they hardly make a dent. 

“I think my assumption that you would find my reasoning hard to understand is true. It’s sad, really, but I can hardly explain the workings of this library without coming to know of it myself.” He shrugged, making his fluffy-looking hair bob up and down as he admitted to his flaw. She flexed her hand tugging it out and into a fist again and again, wanting to seize him by the neck and tear apart that hair. “Patience is a virtue, isn’t that what humans say?”

Somehow, his smile had turned into a smirk in her mind.

She hated him. She hated him so very much. Everything had been fine before he came along.

How was she going to survive? He had hinted that he was going to keep coming back every day for God knows what reason. It would only take a tiny push for her to wrap her hands around his neck to strangle him, the image flashing through her mind.

The faces changed.

She slowly started to drag her hand up her body, her arm a dead weight that jostled against her limp lemon-colored shirt. Her fingers lightly grazed the skin on her neck, touching it as tenderly and gently as she could.

Shinji… choking her?

Preposterous. He didn’t have enough of a spine for that.

Her arm slumped. “ _Stay away_. Idiot Shinji and that _doll_ Wonder Girl don’t need you here. And _I_ certainly don’t need you here.”

How long had it been since she’d gotten this maddened? And _why_ , why because of _him_? The part of her she had long since buried was screaming, yelling at her, pleading for the answer to why she was acting this way. 

“You’re _insane_. You can’t do anything to help us – no – I don’t need any help! Honestly, I should just kick you out right now!”

She was striding towards him now, having kicked back Shinji’s chair so it fell over with a subdued _clunk_. A dictionary slipped and fell off the table as she rattled it from her movements. His white complexion caught her eye. How would it look blossoming with the violet bruises she would cause?

His words didn’t need to be said. _Do what you wish. It won’t deter me._

Though she was the one standing above _him_ , looking down on _him_ , she had the growing idea that _he_ was the one who had the upper hand, even as she lunged.

“Asuka Langley Soryu?” 

She gaped at him as he shared the same expression, stopping in her tracks. Kaworu seemed pleasantly surprised. 

“Wh – what are you doing?”

The sound of his query combined with _that_ _arrogant, lying smirk_ in her peripheral vision was enough to make her turn away. “I’m just talking with this stranger, is that too much of a problem for your blockhead brain?”  
  
The words weren’t as fierce as they sounded. No, they were dull, dull and tired and dissolving. Just insults, insults that spewed out of her mouth like a cannon when her childish and juvenile anger had sizzled out and she _knew it_.

She waited for the pain from those jabs to show up on his face, but all she was given was a perplexed look.

“Kaworu’s a stranger?”

Even her drained insults completely vanished at those words. She desperately desired to keep fighting, but it was all too much to handle.

If Shinji really had once strangled her, she wanted now to return the favor.

 

::

 

The rest of the day, compared to that unfortunate mishap, passed by rather uneventful - or as uneventful as it could go with a new presence in the library. Shinji had finished sorting the books, though he was sure Asuka Langley Soryu would turn up with another cart full of them in an hour or so, and joined Kaworu in walking around the space. It was always otherworldly how the library felt, as if it was empty and cluttered at the same time.

Shinji realized that he never really studied the library before, not truly. Kaworu would point out everything he noticed, something that Shinji thought he would’ve found annoying if it were anybody else doing so. It was just little things mostly, like how the sunlight would land in exactly the right place to make a potted plant stand out, or that a mirror was placed in such an angle that you could notice things happening dozens of yards away. Kaworu had such a curious way of talking, one that was ridden with words that most would not consider vernacular yet in such a way that struck Shinji with the sense of familiarity. Asking questions to Kaworu, he decided, wasn’t nearly at all the best way to hold a conversation with him.

For a while, Shinji had forgotten that people were meant to _read_ the books on the shelves rather than look at them, and didn’t ask why Kaworu was simply strolling around soaking in all the sights. It all felt so _natural_. Why would anybody want to stop that?

There were also bigger things that Kaworu noticed. How some of the windows were stained glass, and how you could never remember which ones were.  
  
It didn’t bother Shinji that much, but not much did now.

What did bother Shinji was how Kaworu’s lips pulled down into a concerned frown with a bit of _fear_ when rushed to stop him when he was trying to unlatch a window – this one stained and tinted pink, like roses soaked in diluted blood. It had happened so fast and he had reverted back into a reassuring smile so quickly that Shinji would have brushed it off as a trick of the light if he didn’t have the image stuck in his head on repeat. Frowning did not suit Kaworu. Not at all.

Whenever he passed by that window, Shinji would drop his head to the floor and scurry by.

Kaworu noticed Shinji’s discomfort towards his frown, of course he did. He reached out to Shinji’s shoulder, hand gentle and tender and soft – and Shinji flinched back. He wasn’t sure why he did, he confused himself too much, _he_ was the one who bothered himself too much. Why was it that he didn’t fight back against Asuka’s attacks but confronted with the ideas of Kaworu’s touch he wanted to shy away?

Pathetic.

Would Kaworu know how pathetic Shinji was? Surely he would, and he would hate him for it. The frown, that _frown_ was just the beginning, wasn’t it?

It had stayed on his mind for the rest of the day, then after the sun dipped down under the skyline, for the rest of the night. It left him feeling dizzy, discombobulated, and dreadful. Kaworu was on his mind, and perhaps Kaworu was a mind reader because for those few uneventful hours his smile had a worried edge to it.

It was almost ten now. Shinji knew, for while the clocks hanging on the walls were all too fast or too slow, the old groaning grandfather clock that stood underneath the others like a weary guard was always correct. He was sure it would fall apart one day, just _break_ if perhaps Asuka shook the ground too hard, but for now it was there – reliable and catching dust.

Shinji could feel himself breathing shakily, his hands trembling as he slowly lifted up his right over his heart. He could barely hear it, and for a second he was sure he was dead, and when Kaworu appeared he looked like an apparition and only made him more certain. He blinked, and Kaworu had wings, light and white and _glowing_ , until he blinked again and they were gone. Swept away like a hazy, fading memory.

Asuka Langley Soryu appeared, and the weight on his chest grew heavier and heavier until he was pleading in his head that he would take shaky breaths over no air any day. He couldn’t make out the words that jumbled and tumbled back and forth between Asuka Langley Soryu and Kaworu Nagisa, and he wasn’t sure if he was desperate to hear them or not. Suddenly she started to drag him by the collar, and he was clawing, reaching for Kaworu who followed so very slowly. She pushed open the door, and the sharp darkness of the night filled his lungs and made him alive again.

Alive? Freed?

“Goodbye, Shinji.”

Kaworu Nagisa was waving to him now, back-dropped by both the desolate setting of Nerv Library’s own special street corner and the night sky that rippled with stars and galaxies and light. He turned away and walked alone, hands stuffed in his pockets, and if he did have wings like before Shinji was sure he would be able to touch the stars with them. Shinji saw one last piece of Kaworu’s gray hair, colored silver and white in the moonlight, before he went around a corner. 

It took him strength he didn’t know he had to tug himself away from Asuka Langley Soryu’s grip and chase after Kaworu. When he went around the same corner, and panted for breath as he peered through for signs of him, nothing was to be found.

The street was empty. Kaworu was gone.

 

::

 

Shinji arrived at the library thirty minutes earlier than he did normally. The air was humid and damp, heavy with autumn fog but without a chilling wind. The fog made everything gray, not just the sky but the ground and all the buildings and plants in between. He felt that he would have preferred the blue sky from before.

He ran around the block, the library in sight. Someone was slowly walking towards it, someone with pale hair and pale skin, but when Shinji caught up to the person he realized it was not Kaworu Nagisa but Rei Ayanami. The fog was playing tricks on him, but the two really did look alike.

“Rei, I, uh, thought you usually get here earlier than this…” he scratched the back of his head as Rei peered at him with confusion, staying silent for a minute before speaking. The two had little to do but stand awkwardly around each other, waiting for someone to break through the silence. If only Asuka Langley Soryu was here, such things came easily to her.

“I was not feeling well this morning. Asuka Langley Soryu is staying in her apartment. She contracted a migraine.”

Shinji stood in place, stepping back and forth on the balls of his feet, until Rei Ayanami walked forward to pull open the door. Letting out a sigh of relief that he wasn’t the one who needed to make the first step, he followed after and entered the library once more. The smell of dusty books enveloped him, a scent that never seemed as strong as it did today.

He stretched his arms, making them stick straight up to the ceiling before letting them flop at his sides. Eyeing the table that he and Kaworu had sat at yesterday, it was with a tinge of alarm that he realized that the dictionaries that had covered the table’s surface were all gone.

“Rei?” Shinji called out for his co-worker, looking around frantically for any sign of her pale blue hair. He threw back his arm, almost hitting her square in the face, as she tapped his shoulder so lightly her finger didn’t even seem to have any weight. “Did you – I mean, well, were you the one who put away the dictionaries over there?” He was raising his arm to point to ‘over there,’ but Rei Ayanami answered him first.

“No.”

It felt as if the floor were breaking under him and, inexplicably, his heart sank as the color drained from his face. Asuka Langley Soryu wouldn’t bring those books back, not when she had worked so hard to put them there in the first place, and Shinji certainly didn’t do it. 

Had Kaworu Nagisa been just a delusional hallucination of his? Surely not. He wasn’t that crazy, was he?

If yesterday had been uneventful, then today might as well have not existed. Just like Kaworu Nagisa. 

Rei Ayanami was gone again, gone to do something off in the back of the library. Shinji wanted to check on her, and he attempted to, but the shelves slowly became a maze, turning him around and around until he was led to the reception desk once more. Two hours, the grandfather clock had said. Two hours he had spent wandering around, unable to find Rei Ayanami, unable to do anything but become lost and useless.

Why did Misato even bother keeping him around?

He let out a low sigh, sitting down against the wall and pulling his legs up to his chest. The grandfather clock was to his right, and he could feel every swing of its pendulum reverberate through his heart and lungs and _soul_. Hours passed, and he could feel his mind slipping, as he thought about matters he couldn’t possibly put into words. 

It wasn’t until Rei Ayanami padded over, her footsteps barely able to be heard, and prodded him on the shoulder that Shinji realized he had fallen asleep. He pushed himself up the wall for support as he stood up. The thought never crossed Rei’s mind that she should give him a hand and help him. 

Another day passed by and the library seeped into night, the stars dulled and dimmed and disappeared.

 

::

 

Shinji felt his breath hitch when he saw Kaworu the next morning. The day before yesterday had all felt like a dream, a lucid dream that became real, while yesterday had done well to almost confirm his growing fears.

Kaworu was leaning on the walls of the library, the morning light filtering through his colorless hair and making it shine gold at the tips. He had his arms crossed, not in a stand-offish way but one that suggested that he was cold. Cold? Could Kaworu even get cold? He seemed so impervious to everything that it seemed almost laughable. 

He looked as if he were studying the ground, which was almost as absurd as the idea that he could possibly be influenced by the uncommonly frigid weather. Shinji would have asked why, for Kaworu made him so impossibly curious like he had never been for any other person, but the very next second Kaworu raised his head and smiled at him. “Do Rei Ayanami and Asuka Langley Soryu not have shifts today?” Shinji stood there, frozen in place while his brain processed the sudden question, then jerkily nodded. “Thought as much.” He huffed out the ghost of a breath, making a miniscule cloud form in front of his lips. “A shame.”

“But you’re here,” Shinji breathed out, as if it were a miracle.

“Yes,” he grinned with his teeth. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first got the idea for this, I expected to write it with Karl / Manga!Kaworu. Oh man, imagine that.
> 
> I laughed way too hard at the “Kaworu’s a stranger?” line than I should have. Can I just say how fun it is to write this? Though I can’t get the next chapter out as fast as I did this one, school trips and stuff.


	3. Esoteric Imperfection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iswearitriedtomakethisslowbuild

It was not simply by perchance that Kaworu Nagisa woke up at exactly 4:25 AM to watch the sunrise – which just so happened to start every day at exactly 4:26 AM in Tokyo-3 – for he did so more often than not. Sunrises were among one of the most beautiful scenes in all of living, and how people didn’t go out of their way to watch them every morning used to be a mystery to him. 

That was, of course, until he realized that waking up must be easier for those who didn’t need sleep in the first place.

Not that Kaworu didn’t sleep of course – the lethargic and languid feeling that came bundled with it was worth the time, and was only aided by extra senses such as the smooth blankets sliding over his skin as if they were silk or the light filling his line of vision when he flitted open his eyes. It was the same for food, for while his independence from it was a welcomed wish it seemed too great a pleasure to give up entirely – rather Epicurean of him, he had noted. He had tried staying up without rest or meals once, and living seemed so _dull_ without a moment of serendipitous respite in between. It was when he had gone to New York City to see if it was truly worth the title of the City That Never Sleeps, in hopes that he would find someone like himself.

He didn’t, but that was alright. He hadn’t gotten his hopes up – no, that would be too _human_. So very human.

It was lonesome, his situation. Esoterically lonesome. Even more so than that. If he were human, he would have cracked under the pressure.

He wasn’t, but that was fine. 

The sun was rising now, rising up between skyscrapers and parks and all the seemingly empty streets tucked inside. It’s as if the sky is an easel, painted over and over with light pastel colors. Kaworu Nagisa can’t help but let words fill his mind – opalescent, perhaps – and speaks them aloud in all the languages he’s managed to commit to memory. It was a rather bad habit – a rather humanly bad habit – but that only made him want to do it more.

It’s not as if Kaworu Nagisa hates words. He’s infatuated with them: how they’re able to form ideas and bring them out into lulling melodies and rolling thunders, and adores how his name feels under his tongue. _Kaworu Nagisa_. Maybe it’s a lie, but Kaworu Nagisa is him. He treasures lies as well, though he’ll never feel the guilt and weight of one for his inability to create such a creature, because of how imperfectly imaginative and _human_ they are. Human, human, human. Perhaps it would do him good to find more synonyms for human – he would have suggested _homo sapiens_ if it didn’t sound rigidly _scientific_ and so unlike the controlled chaos he had come to associate them with.

Was he obsessed? So fixated on them, driven by envy and greed and desire?

Impossible.

Wasn’t it?

The hues of the waning sunrise dissipated into monochromatic clouds when he sliced past the boundary of Nerv Library’s street corner with a step, another, and then some more. He would have to hurry this time. Wednesday, the day before yesterday, had been easy – perhaps too easy. Perhaps it was because of the full moon, but maybe that was simply a coincidence. Kaworu should have expected that the library would be provoked and have tried to keep him out at all costs yesterday. He could feel the slight resistance against his soul as he strode closer to the building, but it was weak and fragile and broke effortlessly from his ministrations.

Only a bit of unseen matter blocked off the library from the world, and yet he felt the change in it more intensely than anything else in his entire life. Time ran faster – or rather, he would start to perceive it faster – and the space dripped with radiating energies. Despicable. Appalling. So many words to describe the library, and so many words inside it.

Kaworu glanced up at the sky, the deplorably gray sky. Although a nice color on any other day, this morning he despised it for its lack of pigmentation. If one were to be watching Kaworu Nagisa at that moment, and if that person were to have blinked, they would have missed the slight and minute shake of his hand that cleared a few of the clouds and gave way to a more azure color. 

Someone _was_ watching. They hadn’t blinked, but they had hardly noticed a single change. Kaworu knew he was being watched – it was to be expected – and he didn’t mind. Was he vain and narcissistic, perhaps, to have expected it?

Probably not, for now he was leaning on the side of the library, feeling the tremors that ran up its bricks and pipes, and staring at the ground as if humbled.

Was he humbled? Of course not. 

“You’re a remarkable piece of art, aren’t you? I’m rather apprehensive about that fact, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers,” he remarked to seemingly nobody in particular. “It’s rather ironic that I’m here with you, isn’t it? Could I say that we are opposites?” Questions, questions were wonderful little things as well, because for brief moments it made it seem like he didn’t have the answers the entire time. 

The tremors quaked and quailed to an almost dangerous degree. Almost, if it were anybody other than Kaworu Nagisa. 

Kaworu folded his arms, and pouted with a snarky, snide edge that made his face seem even more angular. “Don’t be like that.” He stifled a gasp upon realizing what he had inadvertently done. “Oh? I suppose we aren’t quite opposites. Not now.” 

Another quick glance, only this time it’s directed to the street in front of him. She wasn’t watching him anymore.

If he could ever possibly have paranoia, he would have been more relieved.

There was a new presence now, one that slipped into the street corner as easily as ever, one that was nearly undetectable. Kaworu lifted his eyes off the pavement, boring holes into the presence’s face with a smile. “Do Rei Ayanami and Asuka Langley Soryu not have shifts today?” He couldn’t sense them; no, they had ridden themselves of the abomination for now. His smile widened, if only by a bit, when Shinji nodded disjointedly. “Thought as much,” for he did, and huffed out a breath in mild disappointment. “A shame.” 

Now Shinji was also boring his eyes into Kaworu’s head, and he could feel his gaze settling on him with wonderment and awe. Respect came from fear and love, and Kaworu was pleased with the fact that what Shinji feared in his reverence wasn’t _exactly_ him. Still, he was missing _something_ , something so very _important_ , and though it was surely in plain sight he couldn’t see it.

“But you’re here,” and Kaworu thought he might just fall apart from those words.

“Yes.” He held himself together with another smile, wide and bold in unrepressed jubilation. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“You… you weren’t here yesterday, though,” Shinji muttered, trying to mask over the slight irritation in his words with less-than-successful results.

“No,” Kaworu confirmed in an almost jaunty fashion, as he sifted through Shinji’s emotions, finding anger beneath all the relief and anger at himself buried under that. “I wasn’t able to come. The library wouldn’t let me – I suspect it rather dislikes me.” The flurry of bewilderment that emanated from Shinji after those words was almost unbearable, and he fought himself to keep from placing his hand on Shinji’s shoulder to clear his worries.

Less-than-successful results indeed.

Kaworu was almost sad – him, _sad_ – when Shinji flinched as he carefully sauntered over to him and raised his right hand. Fragile, like glass, for everyone in the library was glass – but later, later, he would have to confront it later. Mirrors and glass and masks and roses and dolls, and no matter how stunningly magnificent the library was its intentions were wholeheartedly cruel.

It pained him to see Shinji hang his head in self-hatred as he realized what he had done.

“Sorry,” Shinji mumbled, and if Kaworu Nagisa had a heart – glass or not – it would have shattered.

 

::

 

Dozens of bells chimed as Shinji pulled the front door open with relative ease, and instead of being greeted by dusty books all he could discern was the overpowering fragrance of flowers, the names of which he could not identify. Perhaps Kaworu could, for Kaworu seemed to know everything – for all intents and purposes he probably _did_ – and that theory was only made more valid when he saw Kaworu regard the absence of dictionaries with no hint of revelation.

The bells still clinked in discordant unison as he apologized profusely. “I didn’t – I mean – we didn’t put those away. I don’t know what happened…” Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

“I know,” Kaworu asserted as he trailed his fingers on the empty table. “Didn’t I say that the library dislikes me? It most likely attempted to erase all hints of my existence.” His head turned to the grandfather clock, and Shinji could no longer see his eyes. The back of his head, while less searching, was a nice compensation. With the ghost of a voice, Shinji could barely make out his words and even then hardly believed they had been spoken – “ _Believe in your memories, no matter how much they falter_ ,” – but Kaworu consequentially swayed his face back into view, completed with a melancholy smile. 

Bittersweet. 

Kaworu knew what to say, he always did, he knew everything and Shinji was now sure if it because he had known the exact words to get him to break down.

 _Pang pang pang_ , the sound of Shinji’s heart beating, and if he didn’t know any better his cheeks were tear-streaked even though he had never cried. _Believe in your memories, no matter how much they falter_ , but it was impossible to remember crying, and he wondered if the library – whatever that _meant_ – was trying to erase his existence now, starting from the weakest link. _Pang pang pang_ , and if Shinji didn’t know any better he would say that he was more terrified than he had ever been his entire life.

Pots and pans, a recipe for disaster, _pang pang pang_ , and this time his eyes weren’t focused on Kaworu at all even though his mind was entirely devoted to him, so he wasn’t able to flinch again when Kaworu _really did_ lay his hand on Shinji’s shoulder. 

The bells stopped ringing, but when exactly they did Shinji couldn’t be sure of.

“I don’t understand,” and it came out as a whimper, a whine from a blubbering baby, and it might as well have been one because it was how Shinji felt at the moment. A baby, who couldn’t make rhyme or reason out of the world. 

“Not now,” Kaworu crooned, “not now.”

His memories faltered, and when he awoke after fainting in burdened shoulders and arms, he couldn’t manage to recall a single word.

 

::

 

Somehow, by a strange amalgamation of circumstances he could not piece together, Shinji found himself lying face-up on the table that seemed so very incomplete without bilingual dictionaries. A light jacket, one made perhaps for autumn – which, he realized, it _was_ – draped over his chest. It smelled of nothing, which really meant the smell of what something would smell like if it was empty, the smell of Kaworu – and to that he started to chuckle at the notion that Kaworu could be affected by the frigid wind, and was struck with the sense of déjà vu. 

Maybe, perhaps, he wouldn’t be playing threads of thoughts on repeat if that cacophony of _pangs_ hadn’t moved from his heart to his skull.

He didn’t know what he expected to _feel_ when Kaworu pressed a hand to his forehead, but certainly not the cool and feather light touch – or rather, a touch comprised of light itself – or the soothing experience of _that vehement, cursed panging_ dissolving into nothing – not emptiness this time, but truly nonexistence.

“I do hope you’re alright,” and Shinji was, for he was finally able to process the words and connect them to the movements of Kaworu’s mouth. The pain had ebbed away, the worst of it was over, like a seashore, and he wondered vaguely if Kaworu’s last name _Nagisa_ had anything to do with it. He begged to the moon in his mind to make the tides of headaches smaller, while the small section of self-awareness in him questioned again and again what he was thinking.

“Don’t overthink things,” and it seemed Shinji was in fact _not_ alright, for it took him far too long to realize that it was Kaworu who had voiced the thoughts in his head instead of his _thoughts_. “It only helps in increasing your anxieties.”

Somewhere along the line, his chuckles became fervent, sickly laughs with forced words in between each breath. “I don’t know you, do I?”

“No, not really.”

“But you know me.”

“Yes, I do.”

Fervent and sickly and dripping with disbelief. “You know me, and you’re able-“

“To be kind regardless, yes.” Kaworu’s palm was still placed on his forehead, Shinji realized, and only moved to brush away the wisps of hair that covered his sky blue eyes.

He could clearly see Kaworu now, study how he seemed so comfortable in his body as if it were him and not at the same time, and even though his vision wasn’t blocked he felt as if he still couldn’t understand, not now.

Kaworu had an air of guilt, guilt that he could never atone for, but that seemed so impossibly improbable. 

“Ignorance is bliss,” he cooed the adage in a lilting voice that was far outweighed by his concerned demeanor. “Isn’t that what humans say?”

“What would that make you?”

His smile twisted. “I wonder.”

Kaworu had taken to gazing at the grandfather clock instead of Shinji, and there was that empty feeling again, and more than anything he wanted to fill it with something. Minutes passed before he brought up the courage to speak again, for Kaworu was quiet and waiting for him to do so.

“You’re not gonna leave, right?”

“No,” and Shinji’s tensed up limbs lay lax in relief. “What would happen if I did?” 

Shinji gestured to the grandfather clock, only moving his pointer finger and leaving his arm and wrist to rest, and Kaworu gave a slow nod in response. “Yesterday would repeat.”

“Here, all the days repeat. And that isn’t on time like you think it is, Shinji.” Shinji nodded, pretending to understand. For a second, it seemed as if the hands of the clocks on the walls synched up for a brief moment, only to be launched into bedlam once more. “But not now. Do you hate me for the change I caused?”

“I don’t think so. I can’t be sure, you make me unsure.” Shinji shook his head, tousling his hair just a bit.

Even though the weight of it was practically nonexistent, when Kaworu removed his hand from Shinji’s forehead he started to shake once more. Tears were welling up now, crystal and salty like seawater, like the tide that was only growing in size. “D-don’t leave…” he pleaded, his voice trembling with unease, and if he could find the fortitude to snatch Kaworu’s arm he would have done so.

Kaworu’s blood-red eyes were unfocused, though they inadvertently settled on him, and although the calculating look he had wasn’t directed at Shinji it sent shivers of panic down his spine.

“Such a fine line…”

And by the time Shinji noticed that it was Kaworu that had spoken, he was already wearing the same perceptive smile once more.

“It appears that I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he started calmly, any malice he could have had undetectable in his voice. “I apologize.”

“And, and _I’m_ the one n-not allowed to say sorry?” 

“You’re not the one at fault, I am. I should have come sooner.”

Shinji’s eyes were pasted to Kaworu’s back as he turned away and stepped to the cart of books that had appeared next to the table overnight. He flipped through the covers, humming a faintly familiar melody, until grabbing one novel and placing it next to Shinji’s still body – he hadn’t moved, not an inch, and his feet were beginning to tingle and buzz. “I thought you might like to take the day off,” he surmised, and added after a long pause: “I won’t leave.”

He didn’t resist when Kaworu climbed up on the large table to sit cross-legged, the wood hardly even shifting under his weight, and gingerly coaxed Shinji to lie in his lap. It only took him a second for the cover art to catch his attention, for the words to seep into his mind, and he blurted out, “I’ve already read that,” without thinking twice.

“Did you enjoy it?”

Shinji bit his lip. “Not really, no. It – it reminded me too much of… well, myself.”

“You don’t have to listen, not truly,” Kaworu consoled, playing with the fringe of Shinji’s hair absentmindedly. “I won’t mind.” 

Before Shinji had the time to respond, Kaworu had already flipped to Page 1 and began to read at such a steady, tranquil pace that Shinji thought he might just have the greatest amount of patience and tolerance out of anyone he had ever met. And Kaworu really didn’t mind, not at all when Shinji began to nod off and struggle to even keep his eyes open, and only continued to read in a leisurely fashion even after Shinji had long since fallen into an uninterrupted slumber.

It was 9:00 PM when he was gently prodded awake by slender fingers and was pulled up into a sitting position. Kaworu slid off the table, letting Shinji keep the jacket he had shielded him with, and led him to the door. 

Shinji had started to trail after Kaworu, finding it difficult to keep up with his staggering steps even as Kaworu was only striding at a moderate pace. He lurched his head to the left, having seen a glint of light in his peripheral vision, and let curiosity take the better of him as he tried to detect what it was. 

A great mistake.

When he looked back to where Kaworu was, where Kaworu was _supposed_ to be, there was nobody there.  
  
He clutched the jacket as if it was a lifeline, never daring to let go.

 

::

 

Shinji had begun to plod back to his apartment lifelessly, the moon starting to wane and the stars pallid instead of bright. He hadn’t passed anybody, something he would have found strange for the time if that wasn’t the case every night. Today, rather than not affecting him at all, it gave him a sense of isolation.

Maybe everyone else was lifeless, not him. Maybe they were dead.

As if.

“ _Maybe_ I really _do_ overthink things.” His teeth chattered in the cold, so he brought Kaworu’s jacket closer to his face instead of his arms. The warmth was like that of a fireplace, comforting not in its heat but because of _love_. He wanted to snort at his romanticism of a _jacket_ , but it was very hard to sneer at anything Kaworu gave him.

Kaworu really had changed everything, hadn’t he? Even Asuka Langley Soryu. 

He stiffened up, suddenly remembering that she had been out with a headache yesterday. It must have been _terrible_ considering that it made _her_ stay home, or at least was bad enough that Rei Ayanami forced Asuka Langley Soryu to do so. 

With the jacket dangling from his left arm, he used his right to pull out his phone and press a pattern of numbers he had somehow managed to commit to memory. His numb hands were shaking in the bone-chilling air – when did it ever get _this_ freezing in Tokyo-3? – as he lifted his arm to bring the flip-phone to his reddened ear. His breath was stuck in his throat as he waited impatiently for her to answer, rolling his foot up and down from his heels to his toes and back again.

“What do you want, idiot?” Somehow the antagonistic voice that screeched through the phone was a welcome privilege.

Welcome or not, it didn’t help with his usual apprehensiveness when having an _actual_ _two-way_ conversation with Asuka Langley Soryu. “O-oh, I just wanted to know if, if you’re okay.” He bit his tongue on accident, stifling a yelp so as to not deal with the jibes and jabs that would surely follow.

Luckily, she hadn’t noticed in her frustration. “Of course I am!” she snapped. “Honestly, why does Wonder Girl worry about _this_ out of all things?” Shinji could hear her temper boiling up and the scowl on her lips in her words, and gulped as he started to totter down the sidewalk again.

“Are you coming tomorrow?” It was an unnecessary question, but better to ask it than to wait in petrifying silence until she blew up and vented at him endlessly.

“I’ve said it before: you really _are_ stupid.” Even though he really should have been used to them by now, it was hard not to wince at her insults. “I’m not letting you in the library _alone_ for _another_ day. Misato better fix those schedules, or you’ll end up blowing up the whole place.” She paused, and for a second Shinji thought he should have said something in return, but then spoke again. “Was that creepy guy there again?”

Creepy guy? 

Oh. “Kaworu?” 

Asuka Langley Soryu groaned in exasperation. “Yes, _Kaworu_.” A couple of muttered words were thrown in, and Shinji assumed they were curses in German. Upon noticing that neither of them had spoken for the last several seconds, she urged him on: “Well, _was_ he? He’d probably manage to destroy the library faster than you.” 

Shinji started to fiddle with Kaworu’s jacket in his hand. “Well, he wasn’t here-“ her sigh of relief interrupted his words for a brief moment, “-yesterday. He came back today.”

“What an annoyance! He’d better not be there tomorrow, I swear.”

“Well, uh, h-he’s nice when you get to know him…” Shinji mumbled.

Another mistake. He was forced to dwell on it, what with the long silence that followed.

“Hmph. Maybe to _you_. He’s almost as much of an idiot as you are.” He could imagine her turning up her nose to go along with the statement.

“Whatever you say…” He had taken care to whisper them under his breath as quietly as he could, but Asuka Langley Soryu had somehow heard him and began to launch into a tirade. “I-I gotta go,” it wasn’t as if it was a _lie_ , per say; he was nearing his apartment complex after all. But he knew, and she probably knew as well, that it was just another excuse to get away. “See you tomorrow.”

Shinji pocketed his phone, then wrapped his arms in Kaworu’s jacket, burying his face in the fabric.

The apartment complex was as quiet and empty as always, as if Shinji were the only one living in the entire world. The next morning when he pulled the door open and was greeted by the sight of Kaworu Nagisa and Asuka Langley Soryu – arguing, it seemed – he couldn’t help but feel as if a part of him was whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos! 
> 
> Esoteric is one of my favorite words, by the way. It’s pretty great.
> 
> Happy Birthday to Kaworu! This might read a bit rough and rushed, because I was trying to get this out in time and wrote this over the course of two days. I’ll probably go back over it and edit it more later. (Edit: I did. Fixed a few mistakes. Now 400~ words longer.)


	4. Camaraderie Cacophony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The AC broke while writing this chapter. I like to think it’s Asuka’s fault.

“I can’t believe it,” Asuka Langley Soryu huffed, crossing her arms and balancing her weight across her legs. “You just come and barge in here before opening hours, not even bothering to do anything but stand around!”

For a moment, Shinji forgot that the chides were not directed at him before processing the scene taking place in front of him. Kaworu seemed to be leaning on the bookshelf nearest to their table – _their table_ , huh – with an – well, Shinji wasn’t all that good at reading faces, but it couldn’t have been an – amused expression. And Asuka Langley Soryu, her hair flaming in the golden light that pulsed from the spherical lamps that hung from the ceiling, was positioned several yards away – as if being careful not to contaminate herself with Kaworu’s skin. She catapulted her taunts, aided by months – perhaps years, even – of experience.

“I’m being idle? I would beg to differ. It’s impossible to truly be doing nothing – for one is always thinking. And most often, waiting.” He paused in his speech. Shinji blinked. He couldn’t possibly be making an example– “Whoever came up with lines? Such a tedious concept.”

Asuka Langley Soryu scoffed, then gulped down her petulance. “I have better things to do than talk to a pretentious pseudo-intellectual like you.”

“Oh?” His lips curved up into a grin as he spoke, and for a moment Asuka Langley Soryu’s face became just as red as her fiery head of hair, or even Kaworu’s eyes. She was mad, and any other synonym that could have fit, but for now that would have to do for Shinji. And he was waiting, she was waiting, for Kaworu to reply with the ‘takes one to know one,’ that was surely there, but he never did.

It took him a while to realize that Kaworu was now greeting him, that he wasn’t just an innocent bystander, and now Asuka Langley Soryu was glaring at him as if it was _his_ fault that Kaworu Nagisa existed. That was just absurd, because people didn’t exist for other people – did they? – and even if that was the case someone like Kaworu Nagisa just couldn’t possibly come out of something like _Shinji Ikari_.

“ _About time_ you got here,” and maybe the little snippets he had overheard of Kaworu’s and Asuka Langley Soryu’s last conversation – if it could be called that – actually made an impact, because she didn’t make a single step towards him. Or maybe, maybe he was even more prone to contaminating her with idiocy than Kaworu was, which made sense – in the same sick way a schadenfreude would laugh at roadkill – because Kaworu wasn’t an idiot at all. 

Kaworu was tilting his head in soft consideration, and in the same softly direct way he said, “Shinji has been having a difficult time lately. Please take that into consideration."

They really were opposites, more than even Rei Ayanami and Asuka Langley Soryu, but even still Shinji couldn’t decide which one he preferred. The answer should have been obvious, _could_ have been obvious, but, but – this was all too complicated. 

She needed to find a way to stare down two people at once quickly.

“Hah, yeah, sure. What’d he do this time? Come sniveling to you crying?”

All consonants and no substance.

“Not at all,” as if it was a dogma, but Asuka Langley Soryu reacted with the same face she made whenever Rei Ayanami didn’t react to when she called her Wonder Girl – that is to say, the way Rei reacted, or didn’t, to everything. The face of her realizing that the person she had just insulted didn’t care, or in this case, half of the persons.

Shinji hadn’t gotten a word in edgewise, so he figured he might as well start now – “I – I mean… I didn’t do, t-that…” – and apparently Kaworu had noticed too, because now he was waving like he didn’t _just_ greet him already, and a few seconds after that he was greeting him again like he was really there his time. 

“Hello Shinji.” There it was again, that sense of familiarity.

“Hi Kaworu.” He almost wanted to wince at his own voice. Before he could forget, he stammered out, “Hi Asuka Langly Soryu,” but it was clear that she knew he almost _had_ forgotten. Her grip tightened on her arms, skin turning white from the pressure. 

It looked like it hurt.

She tilted her head up slightly, not tearing her gaze away from Shinji until she _did_ and she glanced at Kaworu instead, but it was only for a second. Contempt, contempt and – well, Shinji really _was_ bad reading faces, so he couldn’t quite place what the rest of her expression was.

Shinji noticed by that point that Kaworu sometimes followed a short routine of looking downwards, fluttering his rather long eyelashes, giving an unsettlingly pansophic smile, and then stare straight at Shinji, subjecting him to more eye contact than he had ever shared with anybody else in his entire life. Twenty-two years. It made him feel like he was missing out, or defective, or worse: that Kaworu did that with everyone and really he wasn’t that special at all, it was just normal, just normal for everyone else and him being anything but everyone else it was so otherworldly to him.

And there Kaworu was, staring at him, staring straight through him, but not in a _behind_ him sort-of-way but really _through him_ , and maybe Kaworu didn’t do such a good job of stopping the looping days and stopping his déjà vu because the next thing Kaworu said after the apparent silence of all three present was, “Don’t overthink things.”

But at least _something_ changed, because Shinji remembered to not apologize, and instead replied with, “I’ll try not to.”

His words were overrun by Asuka Langley Soryu’s. “I’d say he doesn’t think enough.”

“I suppose,” and before Shinji could call out in his defense Kaworu continued to speak, now directed towards him. “But perhaps you have made a habit of thinking about all the wrong things. Indeed,” the short routine was repeated once more, “most humans have that problem. If one could call it a problem.” He gave a light chuckle, as if it was an inside joke he shared with himself. Which, by all rights, it was.

And maybe it was the fact that he had said _humans_ which made Asuka Langley Soryu think over her usually on-the-spot words before she spoke, or maybe it was just that she was simply so annoyed that he was _laughing_ , seemingly at said _humans_. “Who the hell do you think you are,” and apparently one became immune to contamination when one was offended beyond all disbelief, because now Asuka Langley Soryu was marching up to Kaworu ready to deliver the blow she was meant to three days ago, and she was screaming point blank, “acting so high and mighty?” And maybe she really didn’t expect the answer, because the next thing Asuka Langley Soryu did was scream, to Shinji this time, “Get this creep out of here! I’ve got forty minutes of peace and I intend to use them.”

Shinji was apparently the worst person you could probably ask to read faces, because Kaworu was beaming from ear to ear – another solitary inside joke? – and he couldn’t possibly comprehend why.

He didn’t even have to ask Kaworu to leave, because he was already leaving, but thankfully – _thankfully_? – he was only waiting outside, leaning again on the brick wall of the library. 

Asuka Langley Soryu didn’t know whether to be pleased at the fact he _really had_ left, or angry that he had left without question.

It was a rather bad decision, Shinji assessed, to stand in a silent library with Asuka Langley Soryu whilst staring at a person they shared opposing opinions about. He made a hasty retreat, and so it was that Asuka Langley Soryu was standing alone in a silent library staring at two people she had mixed opinions about.

And maybe, just maybe, that was an even worse decision.

“What a bunch of idiots.”

::

 

“I don’t think she quite likes me,” was the first thing Shinji heard when he ran outside.

“She, she doesn’t _really_ like anybody,” he replied with a grimace, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he made his way over to Kaworu.

“Hm. As expected.”  
  
“I guess.”

Shinji never dared to move an inch, and Kaworu wasn’t moving either – not out of the same fear of breaking the silence, however. His arms were at his side, fingers pressed rather oddly against the bricks, and somehow appeared to be standing straight even with his back pushed up against a wall.

They hadn’t moved, but now Kaworu was – or, he would have if not for the fact that his lips were only making the slightest amount of movement while he whispered. If one could call it that. 

Shinji wasn’t sure what language Kaworu was talking in, but it was like nothing he had ever heard before. 

Somewhere along the line, the ground had started shaking, and now Shinji _had_ to move, because he was wobbling around trying to grab hold of anything. Kaworu was still, as if he wasn’t really there, just a hologram or a projection, and the thought flashed in his mind that maybe he should grab _Kaworu_ , but he didn’t have any time to act on it because as soon as he thought it Kaworu was the one who grabbed _him_.

The ground was still shaking, and he was sure he saw cracks, _cracks forming_ , breaking up bits of concrete under their feet, but Kaworu was perfectly still.

He looked more _angry_ rather than worried, and Shinji could certainly read his face _now_ because it was only a short distance away from his. Kaworu wasn’t muttering strange words anymore, his lips were pursed in concern. He snaked his hand up from Shinji’s waist to his cheek, feeling the warmth of it clash with his own frigid skin.

“I should have been more careful.” They were close enough for Shinji to feel the little breaths Kaworu made as he confessed to _whatever he meant_ , and that was enough to make _Shinji_ worried in place of Kaworu.

“I don’t understand.” He didn’t, not at all.

“I thought as much. I was arguing with the library.”

“That’s supposed to be an explanation?” He joined Kaworu in being angry, then frowned. “Libraries can’t talk.”

“Then this isn’t a library.”

“You’re being,” he paused. “Well.” He frowned even more. Really, how tough was it to call out on Kaworu’s flaws that were _somehow_ there? 

“Blunt?” 

“I guess that’s part of it,” he admitted weakly. 

“Bothersome, then.” Shinji really had to become better at talking back before others interrupted. “You guess? That’s something I never understood.”

“Well,” Shinji huffed slowly, “I guess that’s another thing we share.” He winced.

“Guessing again. Guessing at everything. Why can’t you just feel?” 

“Me?”

“No, no, sorry. Directed towards humans in general. 

“You’re not making sense.” Ah, that’s what it was.

“No, I’m not, am I?”

“No, definitely not.” He almost wanted to laugh.

“Sometimes,” Kaworu noted, “your voice doesn’t shake when you’re talking to me.”

“Why?” Shinji asked, because it was clear that Kaworu wasn’t going to. 

“Ah.” He brought his hand down from Shinji’s cheek. “The answer shares all three of those qualities. Blunt, bothersome, and above all, senseless.” 

“Like you?” He stifled a gasp. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know. And yes, like me. More than you can imagine. Would you like me to let go?”

“I don’t know.” Shinji finally looked down. The ground was still trembling, like an earthquake, but he wasn’t afraid. Not in those arms that somehow drowned out all other senses and subdued the shaking. “Are you going to?”

“Not yet,” and somehow, he was pulled even closer to Kaworu. “It’s not safe for you right now.”

“And it’s safe for you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Latin, by the way.” 

“Oh. You know Latin?” He shouldn’t have been so surprised, he knew, but he was. 

“First language.”

It all seemed so natural, as if all the pieces were falling into place though there weren’t many pieces and not a single place to put them in, and even though he never said out loud, “of course Latin is Kaworu’s first language,” he certainly thought it. Maybe Kaworu knew every language, and that didn’t seem so far-fetched – it would for any other person – and the fact that he had wanted to read bilingual dictionaries on his first day – first day? – at the library seemed to become all the more clear and all the more vague. As if they were going in circles, going around and around and around, like a carousel, asking questions and finding answers that only led to more answers.

During this moment of revelation, Kaworu had been quiet and still, the world had been quiet and still, and at the same time Shinji could also hear and feel every intake of air Kaworu made. In, out, in, out, around and around, and Asuka Langley Soryu was far away, far away from this place in the world where nothing needed to be done, and if Shinji so wished not even breathing needed to be done.

Kaworu had this strange way of being cold to the touch, yet emanating a sense of warmth. “Do you need to let go?” The words were barely more than a whisper, and even though Kaworu didn’t answer Shinji knew he still heard.

He’d almost felt a longing, empty pang when Kaworu relinquished his hold. The ground was steady, almost too steady, and he couldn’t be sure if he missed it or not.

 

::

 

“Flowers?” Shinji questioned Kaworu upon entering the library once more, a sweet and aromatic scent filling the air that would be soothing if it weren’t for the overwhelming amount of it.

“Hyacinths and petunias,” Kaworu affirmed. It only took Shinji a second for his eyes to immediately focus in on the yellow flowers that lay strewn across the table – not _their_ table, which had long ridden itself of dictionaries and now only had a single book placed on it, but the one to the left. They seemed so delicate, as if their petals would fall apart under his touch. And the exact color of Asuka Langley Soryu’s sundress, the one she seemed so fond of, though he never bothered to ask why.

Still, their fragrance was strong, as if it had a physical presence, and seemingly started to _suffocate_ him.

Shinji’s first instinct was to crush them in his fists, to watch them shrivel up and wither away between his fingers. He had long since learned to never follow his – usually incorrect – first instinct, but his normal self-restraint had disappeared as he gathered up the bravado to act out his imaginings.

A hand was placed on his shoulder, and it was like he was paralyzed – he couldn’t move, not an inch, and even if it was possible, he didn’t think he would have either way. His arms hung limply at his sides, and he almost wanted to fall, just let all of himself grow numb and painless and dead.

“Shinji,” and he suddenly felt very paranoid instead of safe, and his senses heightened inside his dead weight of a body, _paranoid_ even in the _library_ , in Nerv Library, where everything was alright, perfectly alright, perfectly safe and alright. “Shinji,” Kaworu repeated, as if to add some fleeting sense of stability. “I’d imagine that it would be a rather bad idea to make contact with those flowers.”

“Would it?” he mumbled back, barely moving his mouth and barely making any attempt at volume projection at all. 

“Yes. In fact, don’t get near them. In fact,” he could feel Kaworu’s frown, as clear as if he was looking at it head-on, and it felt _terrible_ , “I’d prefer it if you wouldn’t breath in this air,” and though his words were lined with a satirical edge, Shinji could still detect the lightly-masked concern, “but then you’d _really_ suffocate, and that would be more counterproductive than not.” 

Shinji stiffened up in shock, though what he was shocked about he couldn’t be sure.

“I still don’t get it, how you care about me so much…” If it was possible, Shinji would have turned around to face Kaworu as he spoke, but that hand was still keeping in his place, as easily as ever.

“You’re repeating words, Shinji.” And maybe that hand was really a blessing, because through its chilling touch he felt every nuance of emotion behind those words.

“Is that bad?” Because he didn’t know, and he didn’t want to make an effort to choose by himself, because Kaworu knew everything – didn’t he? – so he would be able to choose everything for him.

And perhaps it was a two-way circuit, because Kaworu snatched away his hand as if in pain, or maybe in guilt or regret, and perhaps the sense still lingered for a moment or two, because Shinji also felt pained, and perhaps that was empathy, and it was so comforting, comforting in its madness.

But that was life, wasn’t it? Unexpected madness that so many had foolishly gotten so used to that they found comfort in its tempest.

“To think,” and now everything was lingering, the sense and the smile and the sense of the smile, because his smile was ghosting and lingering like a ghost, as if it wasn’t a smile but a shadow of one, and Kaworu seemed like an amplification of himself which didn’t make sense because his smile was only dimmed, “that you only have something like me.”

Only it wasn’t a thought, it was a fact, and Shinji could feel that fact as if it was a desire, a desire that kept his heart pulsing and alive.

Shinji _was_ alive, right? 

Now being able to move freely, although doing so rather languidly, he dragged two fingers onto his wrist, counting ten heartbeats, then his neck, counting another ten, then the whole of his hand onto the left side of his chest, counting yet another ten. A sign he was alive, because there was no way even _Shinji_ could mess up counting heartbeats, even if his perception was skewed for everything else.

Right?

 _Right_? 

But maybe he could. Maybe he could mess just that up, maybe it _was_ possible.

Because, Shinji remembered, even though Kaworu had been so close to him, so close that he could feel his tufts of hair and tiny breaths and warm coldness, he hadn’t felt a heartbeat. 

He held his breath, and his heartbeat stopped, and now this was really the paralyzing effect that one had before one dropped like a puppet without strings.

The next thing Shinji did was faint.

::

 

The first time he woke up, he’s soaked, neck-deep, in a pool of blood.

It reeked.

And maybe it shouldn’t have been called _waking up_ , because his body felt light, as if it could float away, and maybe the blood was keeping him grounded, keeping him alive, alive in this not-waking-up world.

What was the opposite of not waking up again?

Falling asleep.

But he had just fainted, hadn’t he?

Wasn’t fainting like falling asleep, and wasn’t the only other path from there to do the opposite?

It hardly made sense, and the blood was rising, so senseless, and his lips were pursed and still even submerged in it, and Kaworu – who was Kaworu? – was senseless as well, and even though now his entire form was drowning he wasn’t really drowning because he could _breath_.

And all was still, his lips were still, his body was still, the world was still, and that was all he needed, even though he could feel the blood wavering above him like waves ebbing on a seashore.

He decided it was like a sense of being, and he wished for that sense to stay, to stay forever even if he had to endure an ocean of blood and a world of stillness, because he desired for it to never leave.

He decided being self-aware wasn’t all that great, because as soon as he wanted the sense to stay, it disappeared.

And suddenly his body was being ripped apart, only it wasn’t, it was his soul that was being demolished and ruined. His lips are still pursed, and it’s as if he’s losing himself, and maybe he already did because suddenly the sense of being got replaced with a sense of the exact opposite, and opposites were so hard to decipher now, because his body was still and didn’t do anything at all to save his soul.

It was torn in half, but not cleanly, because in his two half souls he now has the sense of loss, and he could barely remember a thing, and it’s so terrifyingly real in this not-waking-up world that maybe he _isn’t_ dreaming and this really is reality, because real meant reality, and he wished it didn’t.

His eyes were locked, and soon he doesn’t even have eyes, because suddenly he doesn’t even have a body for those eyes to rest, and all he can see is red blood, and even though he used to feel so complete, so being in it, it tries to mash the two halves of his soul together, and they can’t, they can’t possibly, not without the parts he’s missing, and if he had vocal chords he would have screamed.

All senses stopped, of being, of awareness, of loss, of reality, of completion, and really all colors are lost, because he can’t even tell when the red fades to black.

 

::

 

The second time he woke up, he never realized it _was_ the second time. He couldn’t remember anything, except for the sensation of being choked.

Unseen hands curled around his neck and grasped tightly, as if it was a lifeline, which was purely ironic in the cruelest way because all he could feel was his life slipping away.

He wanted to fight back, he really did, but he’s slipping along with his life, all his resolve has gone and disappeared, and he became a punching bag to be used for the whims of others, and as soon as he found he didn’t really _care_ , he felt something on his cheek.

It was warm, but lacked the same sweat and grime. Just there. As if floating, floating and at the same time grounded.

One hand was at his neck, wanting to kill him, and it seems to be succeeding, but the other was on his cheek, wanting to touch him, and it’s also succeeding. This was intimate, so very intimate, and maybe some part inside of him had sobbed, was filled with emotion at the fact that another part inside of him wanted both to die.

What emotion is was, he couldn’t say.

He wanted to run, but he couldn’t, not literally. He did so anyway, broke off himself from these two hands, felt a slight emptiness, and somehow, somehow he _missed_ it, and he was back again, being strangled but at the same time being caressed, and maybe this was obsession, and maybe this was pain, but it couldn’t have been, but it could have been, because the touch was so warm and loving and tranquil but the other was so cold and hostile and maddening, and soon they melded into each other until he couldn’t decide which was which, and it was that loving hostility that he despised yet adored.

He drew away again, but this time the emptiness doesn’t last so long, because the hands were back of their own accord, and they clawed at him, with brute and naked desperation. This time he _did_ fight back, and every hit he made hurt him, and he began to cough, hacked up bits and pieces of his insides, only they were not lungs or veins or cracked bones, but a mountain of feelings he’s hoarded and locked up, spread out for all the world to see.

And the world, the world was really just those two hands, and he couldn’t understand why, but it was, and it was so cruel, so terribly cruel, and he just wished for once that it would stop.

It did.

 

::

 

He has lost count, though he can’t quite place what he was trying to count to begin with.

This time, he was alone. As if the world is his, or as if he is the world.

His head hurt thinking about it.

It was really quite lonely, sitting around on nothing. Or whatever he was doing, because you couldn’t sit when you didn’t have a form or anything to sit on. He felt rather limitless, and that was bad, that really was bad, really really really bad, because if there weren’t limits what was there for him?

Right. Himself. 

And who would ever want to understand themselves?

Someone sane, he realized.

He could do anything without limits, but really, he thinks, really he could only do nothing. Or do nothing. Or nothing. His head was hurting again, but what was pain anyways? He didn’t have anything to compare it to, for there was only him, only him and the hurting of his head.

Did he even have a head? This was getting confusing.

Maybe being king of the world before a world existed wasn’t a good idea, but then again, he hadn’t chosen it for himself, had he?

He had, hadn’t he?

This didn’t make sense.

Déjà vu, in a way. Sense. Senseless. Opposites. Dual.

But there was nothing else, not in this world where he was the world. There wasn’t an opposite. It was just him.

It was _boring_ , and maybe the creator of the world should have thought more about the consequences of making it, but then again, the creator of the world was him, wasn’t it? Wasn’t he the catalyst?

Since he was the only one there he was talking to himself, and because he couldn’t remember a single thing he might as well have been talking to nothing. Everything and nothing, the world and not.

A blank canvas. An irredeemably massive blank canvas, looming and waiting, with so very high expectations, ones he could reach but didn’t quite feel like doing so. Because he’d probably reach higher, he’d probably go so unnaturally high that he’d fall, losing balance and toppling over and breaking the canvas under his weight.

It didn’t _sit_ well with him, and he wanted to laugh, as if he was a witty employee coming up with the tagline of the century. But there were no laughs, there were no centuries, and there certainly wasn’t any wit. Not a single ounce, and there weren’t any ounces either. 

Trite. He should leave. He wanted limits.

And so it was.

 

::

 

The next world was all too familiar, and all too sad, and instead of being limitless he had so many limits, and it was all too controlling.

Black and white mentality, indeed.

He earned a punch to the gut for that.

Right. He had a gut. About time, perhaps.

Another punch, and this time it was even stronger. He could feel his bones cracking, and he wanted to run, and he wished he could, but he can’t, he’s held in place, and this time he’s sure it had hurt.

This time?

He still can’t remember, but a tiny sliver of reminiscence is there.

Too wishy-washy. Another punch.

Ah, so he’s _literally_ a punching bag now. With every hit, he gained something back. At least that much was true, but as the memories grew bleak, he started to wish it wasn’t a fact.

Last punch, and it all stops.

He remembered what it was like to hurt someone with the intent to kill. 

The pain of knowing was too much, far worse than the pain of punches, and his head whirled – he wants to throw up, to throw up all of the memories, because he almost was a murderer, and maybe these memories were implanted, fake, because he couldn’t have killed, or almost killed, but they felt so intense, so intense and burning and _strong_ like they were his own, and nobody could ever connect to _someone else’s_ past that much.

This time, he screamed.

He didn’t even notice how his blunt fingernails etched pale white scratches into his skin, or how his fists clumped his hair into pieces he tried to tear out. He was lost, lost in his own mind, and he couldn’t stop screaming, and the terror was creeping on him so much so that he couldn’t even hear his ear-piercing screams, so he screamed louder, louder, louder, and while he wanted to hear his own instability with the hope that _someone_ , _anyone_ would help, another part of him wanted to just keep denying it ever existed.

He rocked his body back and forth, wishing for the pain back, the punches and kicks and purple blooming bruises and red splashing blood, because he passed judgments on himself, said that he sure as hell deserved it, screamed it over and over like a maxim, until all words lost impact and faded into the diatribes of a madman.

He’s too lost to realize he already moved on.

 

::

 

When he woke up, he realized that one really doesn’t know how living feels compared to dreaming until one _lives_. He was lying, face up, on a table. _Their_ table. Who did he share it with again?

“Shinji.”

Kaworu Nagisa. Right. Him.

“You’re okay.”

And because he didn’t have anything else to go on, and because the only thing in his line of vision was Kaworu, that’s what he latched onto. So easy.

“You dragged me over here for this?”

Asuka Langley Soryu. She was there too, and Shinji lets out a whimper when he realized that there’s more than a only a tiny, masked _hint_ of concern in her voice.

Kaworu gave a tiny murmur in response, as if thinking something over, and when he lifted his hand off of Shinji’s chest – it was there in the first place? – Shinji bolted up. There’s a gnawing pain, destroying him inside out, and it’s attacking him relentlessly, harsh and brash and _hurting_. 

Kaworu noticed this, and he turned around instead to look at Asuka Langley Soryu, and she has a pained expression, but quickly sops it up and looks back defiantly. “I’m fine!” she snapped, but her voice was cracking, and he noticed that too, and it’s as if something in his vast mind clicked, all the pieces falling into place if only barely, and he seemed more anxious than Shinji has ever seen him before.

“I’m an idiot,” Kaworu mumbled under his breath.

“Took you that long to realize?” Asuka Langley Soryu forced out the words through gnashing teeth, tired and worn, but still refusing to retreat. 

“I’m an idiot,” Kaworu yelled, his eyes wild and searching and _lost_. “It’s been there, the signs, all this time – how haven’t I realized?” His speech pattern was erratic, his voice was jittery, and that was enough to make Shinji bend over, a bundle of nerves, if it weren’t already for the crawling, creeping pain that clenched around his chest.

“Realized what?” Shinji spoke before he realized, and maybe that was a bad idea, because now Kaworu was gaping at him, _horrified_ , and it hurt him more than anything possibly could. The pains came back stronger, as if to challenge the thought. 

“Asuka Langley Soryu… Shinji Ikari…” and Shinji gulps down a fretful wail, because his last name was spoken, and that must have meant it was serious, more serious and terrible and awful than his last name.

“What, what is it?” Asuka Langley Soryu doubled over – it really was _that_ bad – and hung onto her words, and it was all she could do to stop from crying out weakly.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer to post (two weeks!). As much fun as writing this fic is, this chapter went by slowly because I have a bad habit of coming up with ideas for future chapters instead of the ones in the present. But those future chapters are going to fun. Real fun. Also school is icky.
> 
> While there aren’t mind-raping monsters and giant biological robots in this fic, it’s still Evangelion. And thus, I felt rather obligated to conjure up my own version of what I like to call the “psychedelic introspective character train.” So here you go.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the comments.


	5. Solo Performance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Careful, your Utena is showing.

Kaworu hadn’t meant to be such a burden on the two of them, of course. 

A burden?

It was his purpose, so to speak, and as such he was obviously _obligated_ to – for a lack of a better word (which only made him chuckle, because there were thousands of better words but that one happened to be the simplest) – change them. Usurp their lives? Perhaps. Maybe he was cursed, or maybe, contrary to popular belief – or popular denial? – usurping schedules and plans and mannerisms was the inevitable side effect of change.

It wasn’t as if Asuka Langley Soryu was originally his – or rather, him being _hers_ – but the one who came before had already failed in her duties, became entrapped and lost the very powers meant to free Asuka Langley Soryu while attempting to do so, and thus, as yet another was drawn in, the oddity needed to be stopped.

And Misato Katsuragi, or just Misato, but that was another story on her own, and she might as well have been the one to create it. Or rather, her father being the creator, and she being the one who allowed it to flourish, allowed it to capture so many.

It was only a matter of time before _she_ fell to ruin, as the many who came before them had done, and soon he would be the only one left. And then what would the world do?

Not that humans were inherently terrible at surviving, but if _they_ couldn’t it, then how would fragile beings such as the humans be able to?

But perhaps they really could, and he was just kidding himself by trying to come up with an excuse that proved his instinct wrong. 

And it had been getting wrong more often, at least in a different sense of the word. For he had not realized that they had been starving, and he had not realized that it had been going on for months, and he had not realized that while the oddity was balancing the effects for now – as if it was doing it _for_ him, which was helpful, even though it certainly _wasn’t_ – it was currently focused on driving _him_ out and its powers would falter every so often and the pain would come back in flashes and it would feel so very resonating and real and _raw_.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Kaworu asked, even though he really didn’t need to, because he already _knew_ , and now Asuka Langley Soryu was trying to remember, grasping at faint stage cues, and Shinji was just trying to _cope_ , and it took every single bit of restraint – which, incidentally, he had a lot of – to stop himself from dissolving Shinji’s pain sensors altogether. Because it _hurt_ to see _Shinji_ hurt, and that went far past his normal physical empathy.

He grimaced, if only a little, seeing the hunger erase along with their memories of it as soon as he asked, as soon as the words left his lips. The walls had ears here, and apparently the interrogation of the _enemy_ was higher up on the priority list than the possibly fatal suffering of the prey. It really shouldn’t have been. The oddity couldn’t stop him – why was it trying? Why?

“Kaworu…?” Shinji sounded almost careless, and Kaworu was anything but. It was as if they had switched places – enlightened calm and heightened nerves – for Kaworu knew they were stepping on cursed grounds, and any slight disturbance might cast him away – only for a day, of course, but who knows what could happen if he wasn’t there?

Shinji hesitated, eyes flicking around as if surveying the situation and searching for words, and Asuka Langley Soryu jumped in – so easily it almost seemed like she had _meant_ to. “Why’s Shinji on the table?”

“Yeah… yeah, that’s it…” Shinji whispered, nodding his head subtly. “Why?”

They seemed rather slow, as if their reflexes and senses had dulled – and they had, Kaworu could tell, they were being numbed. At least their physical bodies weren’t affected by the hunger, having been kept in a supposed stasis – he’d have to figure out exactly what, have to carefully let it die out, in order for them to gain their health – yes, yes, he had to feed them, didn’t he? They wouldn’t feed themselves, not without a pretext, they would never do such a thing on impulse if they had forgotten the need to do so.

“No particular reason,” Kaworu replied with another grimace and a startling frown. Not that Shinji took notice – any other day, he would have, wouldn’t he? But not today, the _numbing_ – it would stop him from seeing what would normally make him run in fear or lurch in disgust.

Carousal oddity, was it? This wasn’t right, even for those types, no, they wouldn’t be interested in stopping him, not if it meant detracting from keeping the humans locked in time – wasn’t that the case?

Could it be something more?

A library. Not the best of disguises – it offered so much more, beautiful worlds in crinkled pages and faded words, and yet could it really be...?

Shinji and Asuka Langley Soryu were slumping over, limbs and joints growing lax as they became something akin to dolls without puppeteers – tired, tired, of course, tired. The oddity couldn’t sustain them _peacefully_ at the moment – it had to, it _had_ to make them sleep, but in its grasp it might as well have been killing them, if only momentarily.

Out. They had to get _out_ , before the effects became too serious.

The two were unconscious, not even dreaming. It would have been easy to lift them up with hands of air, to bring them where care could be given – but no, to do so, it would be too great a shock, too great a change. Too easy, far too easy to bring down the oddity – keeping the humans safe at the same time was the difficult part, the part where mistakes could be made, if only for the fact that they _were_ humans and the oddities, no matter how well-constructed, were built on the foundation of those humans and their mistakes. To jolt them out of that familiarity, to harm them with a touch even more foreign – well, that was mad.

For now – yes, only for now – Kaworu would simply heft their slack bodies onto his back, uncanny strength grappling the new weight, and make his way to the door. A faint pull, not exactly tugging at him but rather at the souls he carried – he had to at least get them away from the heart of the matter, the sidewalk would do, yes.

He would save Shinji Ikari, without paining him, he must, he _had_ to.

It struck him as odd, but wasn’t everything?

“You’ll have to excuse me,” for yes, the walls definitely had ears, and he knew perfectly well they could hear him, especially when he talked in the closest language that matched the oddity’s. “I believe they’ll be safer with me.”

Kaworu noted with careful determination that the welcoming bells had disappeared, locks upon locks wrapping around the mahogany door. They didn’t want to leave, they didn’t want to go, they were _fine_ , they were perfectly _fine_ , but they _needed_ to, and by that point it wasn’t a matter of want.

If only, perhaps, Nerv Library hadn’t been an oddity. So lovely, but it was all deceit. Akin to a rose, maybe.

A nod of his head, so small that anybody watching wouldn’t even see, and the chains fell with a barely registered rattle. Another nod, and the door flew open, its rusty hinges squeaking and aged wood creaking.

He left without another word, the two humans in tow.

 

::

 

The wind nipped at his human-skin, chilling and frigid. Not that he necessarily cared much – he could block his sense of cold easily, as easily as anything else.

Humans, Kaworu assessed, were troublesome creatures to take care of.

And heavy, somewhat.

“What are you doing, Tabris?”

Kaworu almost felt foolish, grinning as the voice rang out. Always so idiosyncratic – stoic yet lilting at the same time, and he could hear it as clearly as if she were whispering mere inches away from his ear. He ignored her, if only for a few seconds, to tenderly lay down Asuka Langley Soryu and Shinji Ikari on the grass that peaked between sidewalk grass – the air seemed to _change_ , her impatience growing to a monstrous amount.

“You should know by now.”

To any onlooker, perhaps, it would seem as if his words were spoken to nobody – or to himself. There were no onlookers, though; she wasn’t here again, but Kaworu was sure she would return. For now, it would only be a ghost, the ghost of faded memories coming back to haunt him from beyond the grave. Not that he minded much of it – the company, no matter its worth, was comforting.

“Not truly. _You_ should know what happened to _me_.”

Always lingering on the past, was she? Of course she would. That was all she had left, besides him – and trying to sway _him_ , when he was the epitome of free will; well, _that_ was a lost cause.

“Mm.”

A small sound of acknowledgement – some sort of a stalemate between them, but that was comforting as well.

“Eloquent as always. Isn’t it normally humid here, or have you moved on?”

She couldn’t _really_ feel the breeze – it was impossible for her to detect physical senses like that for herself. A wisp of eerie smoke settling on Shinji’s bare arm, that, that alone was enough to notify her of the temperature.

“This is another oddity’s territory. It should retain the same eternal summer as Tokyo-3, but I’d expect that it’s undergoing quite a lot of strain at this moment.”

They were silent for a moment, any chance to talk coming off as mildly furtive. He hadn’t quite gotten used to her ways, how she always seemed so terribly hopeful, not knowing how much the end result would pain her selves even more than their separation. They were the same, both attempting to reach out to the humans, to become like them – but ultimately, they had failed, and had paid the price, and she had become even more of a monster than before.

“Have you given up on rejoining with her?”

The question came with slight apprehension – Kaworu hadn’t waited for her to speak before asking. The wisp coiled back slightly, leaving the human bodies to recuperate, feeling the tension that weighed down on the two, far more than skin-deep. Had he offended her? It wouldn’t matter much either way.

“To an extent. It’s far too quixotic to believe that either of us could do it. Won’t you bring us together again, for me?”

Ah. There it was. He’d been expecting it – every time, without fail, she would ask him. Practically begging. If she were still in a human form, she might’ve bowed and _groveled_.

“Certainly not.” 

“I should have learned that by now.”

A soul split in half, one retaining memories with the other retaining powers. How insufferable, then, that it had taken a liking to accompanying _him_ , when really it should have been watching out for _her_ , its other half, making sure she hadn’t lost even that.

Too late now.

Because Rei Ayanami had been overtaken by the oddity – she had turned into something not quite human, not quite angel, a sullied mixture of both that left only the worst they had to offer. A human shell, suspended by the threats of mortality, and the lack of emotions that signaled their kind. A _doll_ , and there was her other half, making no effort to care for her, hard as she may have tried.

Because the other half _remembered_ , just how badly it hurt, and it had kept a grudge, and even without its former power it intended to act. Overtaken by wrath, losing herself – wasn’t that what they _weren’t_ able to do? She was the one who had broken herself in the end. 

How spiteful it was that in the end, it was simply wisp of air that couldn’t do anything but talk.

It wasn’t even able to form new memories. Just replaying old ones, dying and dissolving, a piece of a long forgotten past trying to pull him back.

A broken record.

How redundant.

He sighed when he felt the broken soul sink back into the obscurity of sound and mind, leaving him until she came back to bother once more. A comforting presence she was, yes, but also one difficult to uphold.

Kaworu sat hunched over Shinji’s body, reaching to smooth out the wrinkles on his glaucous shirt and patting down his hair. He traced his neck with the edge of his fingernail, then lifted up his arm to do the same with his own.

Kaworu grabbed Shinji’s arm, placing the hand so that it pressed against his chest. No heartbeat, no humanity. Not living.

He lay down Shinji’s arm, letting it rest against his side, and brought his own hand to Shinji’s chest. A heartbeat, fragile and wavering but _existing_.

Melancholic.

“You could be killed so easily, you know,” he murmured softly, gently cupping Shinji’s face with his hand. “You already have been, in a sense. And yet you’re still alive. You’ve maintained your humanity, even when it’s been stolen from you,” and perhaps those words would somehow reach Shinji, and that would be how he woke, caught in an embrace, listening to assurances meant for him and him alone.

“Someday, I wish to meet you.”

The lack of a heartbeat. Besotted, passionate, with nothing to show for it.

Would Shinji ever want to leave? Next to Asuka Langley Soryu like this, a state of impossibility of progress, yet so satisfied by its alluring disappearance of responsibility. That was what he wanted, for if not he would have never become trapped in the oddity, and to break him away from that long-lasting dream that somehow came true?

Kaworu was just selfish, wasn’t he? A desire for humanity, to see all the flaws laid out like insects under a microscope, and the oddities were what fulfilled those flaws, made the humans connected in a perfect state of symbiosis?

It was for the greater good.

A library. The oddity had disguised as a _library_. Tainting that creativity stemmed from individuality with the hope of complementation, ruining that genius.

How long until they would wake?

It would only be so many hours until 9:00 PM here, where time flowed faster. He wasn’t willing to give the benefit of the doubt – the closing times never changed, as did everything but simple aesthetic differences in scent and sight. The oddity wasn’t constant, had hardly benign interests like Tokyo-3 or any other neutral ones he had encountered before, so what would happen?

That certain mystery was for another night. An unstable oddity – that meant unstable humans, with glass hearts and glass minds. If worst came to worst, he’d bring them to their apartments – still trapped, but far enough away from the source: the library. The tomb of honeyed words, and if it were truly more than what it seemed at first sight then those stories would become more than fiction.

Kaworu didn’t move when Shinji shifted under his touch, hesitantly opening his eyes in fear of the blinding, ashen sky. He looked significantly more pale, eyes just a bit sunken, which only made the twinge of red that colored his cheeks even more apparent.

Shinji hadn’t called out for him yet – he wasn’t fully awake, merely struggling to pull himself out from the interstitial space between sleep and consciousness. The alien touch, the warmth that emitted from Kaworu’s icy hands, that was all that was there for him. Would that be all he needed? Certainly not, not when its appearance was so misleading.

Succumbing to the world of dreams, three times in the span of two days. That surely wouldn’t have a positive impact on Shinji’s wellbeing, not when the oddity could be, could be _that_.

A staggering scream broke his attention.

Asuka Langley Soryu, Asuka was clutching her face, the left side of her face, _shrieking_ in unadulterated terror. Her muscles were taut, writhing in agony she tried still to overcome out of pride, eyes shut tightly.

Her eye.

She flinched away purely out of animal instinct when Kaworu bounded over to her, fervent in his movements where he would have normally been calm. He extended an arm, hoping she would take it, hoping that her panic would stop – a nervous gulp, she was inching away, not physically but inside her soul.

Reaching for something, for someone.

“Monster…”

A choked sob, barely above the volume of a mumble, voice cracked and strained, but it held so much more behind all pretenses of weakness. She wanted to _kill_ him, she was reaching for someone who could _help_ her do so _,_ she felt all the blame fell onto his shoulders, and worst of all, _they did_. He hadn’t saved them earlier, he had let the oddity work in his blind side, everything was culminating in her eye, an eye that could see past all of his impossible lies.

He must have been a monster, because from it there was only a delayed reaction of surprise, and he hadn’t attempted to help her any longer – there she was, curling up, crying tears she had saved up like pennies in a jar, smashing the glass with a deafening roar, holding him with only murderous intent in her heart.

For there he was, the monster with no heartbeat, selfish and cruel and villainous. Hiding behind a façade of self-righteousness. Trying to justify his own existence, saying it was better in the end, when it had caused the destruction of so many.

“Kaworu…”

So dearly selfish, because in a matter of days, he had become so completely enraptured by one single human.

“Kaworu… you’re not a Monster… that isn’t your name…”

What did it matter? After all these years, no matter how he tried, no matter how many languages he had undertook, ancient and new and bursting with life, he couldn’t comprehend _why_ humans had such a dependence on names, why they had to label everything around them. He was lighter shade of gray, not black, not white, simply gray, and to label _that_ was to call him a monster, and to label _that_ was to call him Tabris, and to disguise _that_ was to call him Kaworu Nagisa.

A disguise? He wasn’t able to lie, not even with the purest intent, could it truly be called that?

Nerv Library, was it? King of Impersonations. Fake worlds, fake words, stories to escape into.

They were still waking, still encaged in between dream and reality – and they would be, perpetually, until he saved them. Until they saved themselves from their own humanity, the humanity that was twisted to create the oddity.

Self-reassurance, then?

He couldn’t bring forth words when they hadn’t already existed inside of their souls by their own right.

Kaworu looked down, smiling, and all seemed to be right. Asuka Langley Soryu was quiet, all was quiet, nothing more needed to be said, nothing more could ever possibly be said. A genuine smile, and that was all he needed.

He glanced at the sky, its clouds having dispersed entirely, making way for a dazzling night sky. He’d have to go stargazing with Shinji one day, wouldn’t he?

“Time flies, does it?” Kaworu chuckled, wrapping his arms around their waists and pulling them up. “I suppose I can’t completely deny it.”

“You can be certain that I’ll come back tomorrow,” now that he would be prepared, now that he knew what the oddity truly was, or at least had some semblance of an idea. Not just a carousel, that didn’t explain it all, that _couldn’t_ explain it all, not with the library changing its décor as much as it did.

And all this time he had been wondering why it had chosen to assume the appearance of a library.

“She’ll be here. Rei Ayanami.”

The moon had already started to wax. Hadn’t Lilith explained once that her present memories were lost every cycle?

It wouldn’t matter now. She was gone, and perhaps it was some glimmer of dying faith that kept him hoping she was not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rather liked writing in Kaworu’s POV for the beginning of Chapter 3, and decided to do it for the entirety of this one. Bit harder to fill up a whole chapter with his vague mind ramblings, but hey, exposition. 
> 
> (Hopefully people don’t forget that this does have some sort of variation of a fluff tag – if it didn’t, I’d have planned this whole thing out better.)
> 
> My favorite font is Baskerville Old Face. Thought you might want to know what I’m writing this in.


	6. Fastened Secrets

Shinji Ikari lived in an apartment with locks.

It didn’t strike him as being particularly unusual. A level of privacy, no matter how empty the complex seemed to be, was surely something to be expected.

But then again, there was his time before he had attained a job at Nerv Library. An apartment without locks. He had roomed with Misato Katsuragi – just Misato, because the amount of disdain they had for their fleeting father figures was, perhaps, the only similarity they had or were willing to acknowledge – and there had been no locks. Nothing.

It had been so easy to disrupt his peace back then, if he really had had any at all. Just a small nudge of the door, from direct human contact or otherwise, was enough to shake him out of his quiet trance.

Clutch the SDAT even tighter, rewind the track back to the very beginning, nudge up the volume one more notch. A single noise other than the sound of his shaky breaths was justification to start all over again. Shinji needed that completion; that feeling of witnessing, of hearing something whole.

And Misato was loud.

Really loud. Even if you forgot about the beer. It was mostly what happened afterward which bothered him, the occasional stranger that shoved open his door, clearly with a hangover and all memories of a blissful afterglow left behind in the dust. So many strangers, and Shinji figured that at least half of them had tried to find the bathroom, with more than unsuccessful results. And seeing Kaji reappear time after time? That must have been even more strange than before.

Really, when Misato moved out to an area closer to Nerv Library, it had been pure bliss. Nobody to bother him.

It was after a week had passed in solitude that Shinji realized he had gotten used to Misato’s antics.

There, stuck in the apartment without locks – which, in fact, had many rooms, too many for one person who mostly kept to themselves. He was engulfed by a sense of guilt over his apparent greediness – perhaps, perhaps he should move out.

It was after a week had passed mulling over the idea that Shinji realized he had gotten used to solitude.

It was the human strength to adapt, wasn’t it?

Shinji had wrapped himself in isolation, and soon the silence he had desired so greatly became common, almost palpable and thick. He would run out of living funds soon, for as weak-minded as he was he would never even _dream_ of depending on his father, and it would only be a matter of time before the society which had been unable to let him in left him for dead.

Pure white stationary seeming to be made of moonlight cluttered his room, were never able to escape, were pinned down by black stains of messy, empty words – some with paragraphs of frantic gibberish, some only made of single sentences. They lay like fallen doves around envelopes stuffed full of an unbreakable void, impish addresses and names scrawled on the first few dozen, with the rest never bothering. Shinji tried to reach out. He really did, really truly – but all he had

He had relinquished his clammy, frail hold on hope – and then, only a few minutes after, Misato called.

Three contacts on his phone. His cello teacher, who told him to stop playing out of worry – and stop he did. His father, except labeled as Gendo, without the father or the Ikari. Misato, the newest, Katsuragi punched in as an afterthought if only for the faux formality, and the only one which gave the neglected device any use.

The only sound on the line was that of ambiance, crinkled and robotic by fault of low-quality microphones. Misato coughed – he winced at the sudden sound, and was thankful that she couldn’t see him do so.

“Shinji?” She wouldn’t be hesitant about calling the wrong number or of the lack of exchanged words – no, it was merely a surprise that he had picked up _at all_.

“Here,” Shinji mumbled in return after a pause, finding his voice to be hoarse.

“Ah, it hasn’t even been one month, has it?” She chuckled, awkward and disjointed chortles fading into another cough. “There’s an open position at Nerv Library.

“I just figured, well,” she coughed a third time, “that you might want it.

“There’s a complex near the library, with a lot of vacant apartments.

“It’d be easy for me to get you one, don’t worry!

“You’re still unemployed, right?”

“I – “ he stopped his protests, knowing it wouldn’t change her mind. “Yeah.”

“Oh, good. It all works out then. I’m short on hands, you’re short on money.” Apparently that was enough to make Misato believe that she had cleared the tension between them, and she laughed again.

“You’re hiring me?”

“Is it too much trouble?”

A gulp. “No.” No, not at all.

“Alright.” Her smile was present in her voice, and practically _bled_ through the phone.

The sound of ambiance had returned, discomforting and disconcerting. A few seconds, or a few minutes, and then a beep – she had hung up, _at last_.

Shinji scampered towards the door, opened it after exerting an uncanny amount of effort, made a quick turn right, another turn left, past tables and chairs still strewn about, barely noticing dishes and beer cans left everywhere from the floor to the counter to the sink. Down a tight corridor, and there was the exit. He would be able to leave. He had a reason _to_ leave.

It was a simple matter of packing up his belongings – there was little more than trinkets, odds and ends and, of course, his clothes – all that was left, all that was really important was his SDAT.

The air was stifling, as the air of Tokyo-3 was – and then, suddenly, as if he had crossed a boundary keeping temperature and heat from colliding, it had turned to a chill. Still blistering – almost scorching, if Shinji really wanted to exaggerate things – but there was a notable shift, a jarring drop. The sky was gray. He could’ve sworn it was blue, clear and completely at ease with letting the sun beat down on all weary travelers that crossed – no, it was gray, it must have always been gray.

The complex, as promised, was almost entirely vacant. In fact, it could have very well have been _entirely_ vacant – not a single person, not a single presence, nobody but him and the music of his SDAT. Like before, only stretching out across his range of vision, past stubby high-rises and shabby shacks and all the little, dust-ridden shops and stalls and markets tucked almost claustrophobically in between. This whole area of the city felt like an annex, as if it had started off as something inconspicuous – a traffic light, or a park bench, or a sign post – and had parts tacked on, junk and trash turning into sprawling structures until the plants outgrew the buildings and the buildings outgrew the people. 

The only soul in sight.

A turn of the key, then a click, then a more-than-forceful shove – the door was stuck; he ran his hand down the frame, it seemed almost _sticky_ with lack of use, but not the kind that came with being new – and Shinji toppled rather unceremoniously into his apartment. His home.

The clink of metal, the snap of plastic, something like the crackle of breaking glass. He disregarded it, and picked himself up. The floor wasn’t all too comfortable. He had felt something under him, pressing on his chest, what must have been wires and gears sticking up like shards of a mirror – just dulled, perhaps, with age.

He sighed, gave a quick look around the area, and it was through repeating that method several times that he found the bedroom. He didn’t bother to change.

It was the next morning when, upon leaving for work – a _job_ , a job at a _library_ – that he found his broken SDAT on the floor.

Shinji contemplated it rather curiously, before flinging the door open and walking out, stepping over it.

He could throw it out later.

 

::

 

Ode to Joy.

Four days ago, Kaworu’s voice had reminded him of that song – before that, it had been long erased from his mind, the blame pinned on his broken SDAT.

Two days ago, when Kaworu had been reading for him, it had practically felt like listening to that very song on repeat. For hours, even in his sleep. It had permeated his dreamless slumber – no, it had _became_ his dreams.

Kaworu was humming Ode to Joy that morning, while swinging a plastic bag in his hand. Swaying, looking as if it were perfectly poised to fly – and it would have fluttered away, if not for Kaworu’s grip and the unknown objects inside that kept it grounded.

He must have noticed Shinji standing around, for he unhooked one of his hands from the thin, stretching plastic to wave him over.

“What’s…?” That? Shinji pointed to the bag.

“This? Mandarin oranges, I’ve bought quite a lot,” Kaworu admitted – like it was something to be _guilty_ of - whilst turning to the door as Shinji came closer. “Are you hungry?”

“Hungry?” He fumbled, almost tripping before Kaworu tugged on the handle for him, gesturing for him to enter first. “I… I’m not really sure if I am. Hungry, I mean.” Shinji could hardly recall what the word _Hungry_ meant, let alone if he _felt_ it.

“I was afraid of that.”

“Huh?”

“It wouldn’t be good to let them go to waste though, would it?” Kaworu almost seemed steely eyed, regarding the library with careful calculation, cool temperament turning wary. What had happened yesterday? Waking up in the morning, with bed sheets tousled and a slight fever, Shinji hadn’t been able to recall anything. Signs of damage? Next to none. The library was the same as ever.

It was Kaworu who had changed.

“Shinji, are you alright?”

He had long since had a habit of staring blankly at people when brooding – somehow, his eyes wavered always to a human, never to anything that wouldn’t become uncomfortable under his vacant gaze. Blurry double vision became focused, making a pale face clear – ah, of course – Kaworu was peering at him, intense with fret and fear.

Was change so bad? Kaworu, expressionless, composed Kaworu, looking at him with such worry – after all, it would only take so long until that smile became genuine.

But an imposter smile would be suitable until he could reach for the real thing.

He looked away, looked back, looked away again, stuttered – Kaworu expected an answer, didn’t he? – “F-fine, I mean, I’m fine.”

He tried to keep looking away, tried to disregard his peripheral vision and how it showed Kaworu’s little movements, how Kaworu tilted his head in concern, how he bit his lip, how Kaworu was watching him back, observing, studying - and soon it was his entire sight that focused on Kaworu instead of only the corner of his eye. 

“Do you know what’s best for you, Shinji?”

Kaworu, he had a habit of asking questions – questions that were prying, that were _weird_ – and making them sound _normal_ , just _small talk_ or _offhand chatter_.

Not that Shinji minded much at all.

“I don’t know,” because that was his fallback, because he _didn’t_ know, and he didn’t _want_ to know.

“I see,” Kaworu murmured, and his gaze was off Shinji now – and finally, Shinji felt as though he could finally _breath_ again.

He heard the plastic bag, dully crinkling, holding itself together with whatever it had. _Thank You For Shopping_ imprinted in bold and bursting vermillion letters, the color of Kaworu’s eyes, and underneath it a circular face that wore Kaworu’s smile. Not reassuring or pretty like Kaworu’s smile was, but still as fake, just as impossible.

Kaworu was holding out the plastic bag, and Shinji immediately reached and took it, as if controlled by some raw, animal instinct buried underneath all the human. He could faintly see the color of orange bleeding through, like flesh and blood under skin, or regrets and woe under a smile.

He lowered the bag on their table – their table, their table – pulled open the flimsy handles, peered inside. Mandarin oranges, yes, but a cluster of golden flowers laid on top, radiantly yellow even against the brightness of orange, stems upon stems weaving into one.

“Are these yours?”

Shinji didn’t touch the flower heads – a vague memory was holding him back, one he could not remember, something akin to an otherworldly amnesia keeping him from recalling – but rather waited for Kaworu to stroll over. A second of scrutiny, and he saw a pale, lily white arm creep over his shoulder, a delicate hand plucking out the plant.

“Tansy,” Kaworu remarked almost halfheartedly, spinning it by the stem between two thin fingers. And without any further explanation: “No, it’s hers.”

“Oh.”

The tansy twirled, around and around, one way, a pause, the other way, a pause, again and again. Rewind the track back to the very beginning.

“Where is Rei Ayanami?” 

The question was sudden, but not unwelcome. “Rei?” he asked, and Kaworu nodded in reply. “In the back, I think.”

Think.

“How far back?”

He blinked, gold flashing lavender against self-encased darkness, blinked again, whispered profoundly, “I don’t know.”

Kaworu rolled back on his heels, rolled forward, used the momentum to break into a slow run. Whether he was chasing or being chased, Shinji wouldn’t know. He caught a glimpse of a fading smile as Kaworu turned his head away.

“It’s no trouble. I didn’t expect you to.”

 

::

 

“Have you finally given up?”

Kaworu slipped his hand into his black pants pocket, noticed the nuances of his legs as they moved, carrying him through and between shelves of unorganized books. Millay, Whitman, Faulkner, names he recognized, names he knew, names he had read years before.

Twenty-two years of life. It wasn’t a lie, not entirely so – what with so many oddities, so many detached from even the abstract, universal concept of time, he didn’t know how old he truly was. Twenty-two couldn’t possibly be enough to express his seraphic immortality, but it _was_ enough to make Shinji Ikari trust him.

He still held the tansy stem between two fingers.

Music scores, theatre scripts, sketches and prints and graphs. Loose papers held together by snagged staples or nothing at all, pressed flowers and framed butterflies, coins from other countries that had lost their newly-minted shine. All piled up, in stacks and mountains and great fumbling heaps, threatening to fall.

He pulled his hand out, snatched a sheet of paper. His eyes scanned it, stared at it with such intensity they could have burned a hole through, and his lips were tugged into a whimsical smile. He stifled a chuckle.

“I haven’t,” he replied, sensing her impatience. He let the paper sweep in long, graceful arcs to the ground. It made no sound as he stepped on it and continued his languid stroll.

“Oh? Then why, pray tell, are you attempting to find Rei Ayanami?”

“Well, it isn’t for you, Lilith. Rei Ayanami has already morphed into a separate entity, just as you have. The two halves would be at odds with one another. You would both be fragmented if I tried making you whole.

“I simply need some closure.”

Kaworu shut his eyes, and the presence of the words around him grew, multiplied.

“You’ve told me that before.”

“I know.” He blinked, saw the world take shape in his vision, and took in a shaky breath. The tansy’s pungency was strong, but the books were stronger still.

“Multiple times. Are you sure you’re not the oddity here?”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

Holding the tansy plant up to the dimmed candlelight and glittering chandeliers, Kaworu studied the miniscule petals folding one on another. Fragile, plants were so fragile – he could crush the blooms in one hand, snap the stems with two.

“But you’re no oddity.”

“I’m not.” 

“You’re just a monster without a heart.” Her spirit seemingly converged on him, and Kaworu sensed a touch made of light against the skin on his chest, though it was only – it could only be – a mere figment of his imagination. “You can’t bleed. You’re completely cold, and that human boy noticed.”

Twenty-two. Physically, that was what Shinji Ikari was, but his adolescence had been impaired, he’d been set back from the very start, and the library – the library, _the library_ – it would never allow him to mature.

Shinji Ikari was undoubtedly human, and undeniably a child.

“So he did.”

This time, it was his own hand that pressed against his chest – where his heart would have been. He listened, hoping to conjure up beats, vibrations that weren’t there, something to indicate to him that he was _alive_.

Twenty-two. Kaworu couldn’t have been even that – for he never had lived in the first place.

The angel of free will? It was almost laughable.

“Tabris.”

“I prefer my other name, to be perfectly honest, Lilith.”

“Oh?” Her voice wore an incredulous tone, dripping with spurious surprise. “Which one? It doesn’t matter, does it? You’ll throw them all away in the end.”

“Kaworu Nagisa.”

“It’s only a matter of time, and we’re both running out of it.”

“Kaworu Nagisa,” he pressed scathingly.

She paused, flustered by his stubbornness – the angel of free will, was it? When one wielded such a powerful force, the ability to choose, it was hardly extraordinary that he had ended up that way. Her next statement came in a whisper: “you could destroy the oddity in seconds, _Tabris_ , if you wanted to.

“Truth is, though, Kaworu Nagisa doesn’t want to, does he? A human boy, with no reason to live – why, how tempting, if he could become that reason.

“You don’t want Kaworu Nagisa to disappear. You want him to stay forever, be the mask you wear for the rest of your time, and the only way that can happen is if the oddity stays forever.

“And _I’m_ the selfish one?”

“How disgusting.” The voice was stolen, snide and wholly cruel.

Rewind the track back to the very beginning.

He frowned to himself, if only slightly.

The paper had been blank.

 

::

 

Sprawling everything from his chest-up on the circular table, Shinji half-heartedly snagged the bag with a hand, and plucked out a Mandarin orange. Even with his stubby digits, the he could fit several of the small fruits in his palm – but he only took one. He rolled it over so that it was upside down, stuck out a thumb and pressed his nail into the peel until it broke. Juice sprinkled onto his fingers, and, hesitantly, he tasted it.

That was a mistake. It was an amalgamation of sour and bitter, without a single hint of sweetness.

He tore off the rest of the peel, eyed it curiously. Orange. Like Asuka Langley Soryu.

Shinji blinked. Asuka Langley Soryu’d kill him if he ever dared compare her to an orange in front of her, fiery hair or not.

Again, he peeled another orange, and then one more. Three oranges, all in a row. He split them in half. Six orange halves, all in a row.

Rip off a piece.

Chew.

It was as if a bomb had been set off in his mouth – so overcome by the citrus taste, the tartness and how saccharine it all was, and how could he have forgotten? It must have been so long, perhaps, and he ripped off another piece, and then two at a time, and then three and then four and soon he was devouring whole halves and he would have continued if the three oranges, six orange halves hadn’t disappeared.

“Oh,” Shinji grunted.

He peeled three more.

And perhaps he would have gone on, peeling three, devouring three, rewind, rewind, again and again – for Kaworu _had_ bought quite a lot, true to his word – but he heard a pound on the heavy wooden door, a telltale curse or two or three.

“Damn this door, really,” the voice hissed, other words interlaced in between.

There was another pound, this time accompanied by a yelp, and Shinji didn’t even have to look to see that the lack of a _Pull_ sign had brought about great calamity once more.

The door swung open, and in swept her haphazard energy, drunk with trouble and adrenaline and promises of the responsibility that supposedly came packaged with adulthood – and perhaps, with just a tiny hint of beer.

“Finally,” and she patted down her clothes of imaginary dust, the bells ringing loudly in his ears and the anxious noise buzzing irritatingly in his head, and if it wasn’t his employer he might’ve just let her be.

He sat up quickly, turned around, movements recognizably sluggish with apprehension.

“Hi Misato,” he called, voice cracking.

She smiled back, glittering at her name – far too long had he kept calling her Ms. Katsuragi, and that simply wasn’t right at all.

“Hey Shinji!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’ve been attempting to write another oneshot for this ship (that is, again, most definitely not fluff) so I haven’t had the time.
> 
> This chapter’s shorter than usual. Sorry. Same thing as usual, extra edits will probably come a few days after. Depending.


	7. Glass Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t updated in months because I’m neurotic about posting chapters that are at least 4000 words long, but the sentence I wanted to end on appeared at around 2000 words. Been struggling to add more, and got it to 3200, and that's why everything's so wonky. 
> 
> (By the way, I know the library is called Nerv Library, but Yui and Gendo aren't present in this fic. And Mari will never show up in anything I write. Ever.)

Rei Ayanami was not, in any sense at all, orthodox.

That much was apparent, even when in the midst of a giant crowd. Her blue hair stood out, after all, and she moved the same way she spoke - if she ever spoke at all - passively, and with reserve. One’s gaze was drawn to her, and yet glossed over her with as much ease. And when one came closer, while she was surrounded by the ordinary, she was only all the more extraordinary.

Porcelain skin that looked, and felt - if she allowed anyone to touch her - like it would crack with a squeeze or a tap. Red eyes that rarely blinked and looked like glass marbles, glittering and beautiful but void of any feeling. A mish-mash of scrapbook materials and high-end sculpting supplies, blended together, badly misshapen, terribly constructed; but at the same time, alluring, with a flavor of seductive appeal that only came from wide-eyed naivety.

Rei Ayanami didn't look human. Rei Ayanami didn't move like a human. Her joints jerked stiffly, as if commanded by a masked puppeteer, as if she wasn't comfortable within her own – colored pallid with a sickly sort of translucence - skin. It was crude and off-putting. Paired with her beauty, it was dissonant and cruel, but invited wanderlust, a Lovecraftian fascination turned on its head.

And yet, once one stared long enough, once one’s eyes had grown accustomed to seeing the extraordinary, it all grew to be a novelty in the end.

Rei Ayanami wasn't orthodox. But she wasn't unique, either. Unique relied on being an individual.

And Rei Ayanami, Kaworu knew, was only half of an individual turned individual. Flesh and bones and organs and blood, yes, but nothing more. That was all she needed to be, and all she was. She no longer was wanting of her other half, for she no longer saw herself as half. She wasn’t a cog in the machinations of higher beings. Not anymore.

Right?

But when Kaworu Nagisa - whole as whole - saw Rei Ayanami - half as whole - he suddenly became aware of the fact that, perhaps, things were not as simple as they seem.

After all, the individual that Rei Ayanami was half of – used to be half of – was an angel, and oddities and angels were never orthodox to begin with.

He dropped the tansy plant in shock, and forgot of it altogether.

Because here was Rei Ayanami - a woman in her twenties separated from her hundreds-of-years-old seraphic soul. Only Rei Ayanami wasn't twenty-some.

She was a baby.

A tiny girl lay on the ground, seemingly only a few months old, surrounded by dusty tombs. Small and fragile, and even smaller when compared to the colossal shelves flanking her, and even more fragile when Kaworu came to see that it would take only a single soft kick to completely shatter her quaking form. Only a slight tug to wrench off her head, to sever wires of tendon and skin.

And if it came to that, would she even bleed?

Rei Ayanami looked like a wax doll. Hold her too close to a flame, she would melt. And Kaworu was a burning, thrashing inferno.

 

::

 

“So,” Misato started, smacking her lips before taking a sip of coffee.

She tried to hide her distaste of the drink, and promptly failed. Beer was better – much better – but hey, she didn’t have the patience to research tea – too pretentious, too much work, and _wasn’t it just leaf soup anyway?_ – but she needed to come off as a somewhat responsible adult somehow, right?

“So?” Shinji held out a Mandarin orange. Ever determined, she downed the contents of the paper coffee cup in one fell swoop, withheld sticking out her tongue in disgust, crushed and pocketed the empty container, and waited eagerly for him to throw the citrus fruit into her open palm.

He didn't.

Misato didn’t know what she expected. There was always room for hope, she supposed – and she would always make room for Shinji, and really any of her employees, no matter how many times Asuka Langley Soryu protested that she was perfectly capable of being a mature capable adult, of being able to care of herself. _Well_ , Misato surmises, _Asuka doesn’t drink, s’far as I know. So she does have one thing over me._

"So, how're things? What's been going on while I've been gone?

"Is everything okay?” She grabbed the orange from Shinji’s outstretched hand – and he forgot to put it back down. A frown.

“Are you okay?"

Shinji jerked his arm back, and tried to smooth his expression of panic over with a deadpan, composed face.

This, too, promptly failed.

 

::

 

God, how hadn't he noticed before? Was he really so blind, so, so, irrefutably blind? There must be something wrong with him, _something, something messing up his brain_ , something eating at his _mind_ , because his heart was _heavy_ and it _hurt_ , because so much had been overlooked – the food, or the sleeping, the library, the _library_ , and millions of worlds and billions of _words_. Because Lilith was split in half, but that wasn't all - that couldn't be all, because angels weren't orthodox, and oddities weren't orthodox – so how could anything mixing the two be orthodox to any extent?

Because Lilith had been split in half when she tried to save Asuka Langley Soryu and Misato Katsuragi from the carousal oddity of Nerv Library. Because they _couldn’t_ have been saved, but she tried, she _tried_ , and she paid the price because of it – her personality was in flux, her soul and her body separated by the serrated edge of causality, her memories in her contents, her powers in her container.

A monster?

Take half of an angel, and the power of the oddity, and this would happen. Because yes, yes, of course, the only reason Lilith's voice was haunting him – the only reason Lilith could possibly still be in the land of the living – was because Rei Ayanami kept her grounded in reality; but at the same time, it was Lilith who kept Rei Ayanami grounded too, pinned down in time with the weight of a soul, with the weight of a past she could remember.

_Except she couldn't._

Rei Ayanami wasn't half of an individual. She wasn’t unique. She was a collection, a shop full of pretty wax figures lined up to look at, a glass case full of glass dolls.

And all of them were empty.

 

::

 

Shinji knew better than to tell Misato he had fainted. Twice. For one, she would never stop nagging - and a part of him, locked deep inside his psyche, longed for that incessant worry - and for two, she would almost certainly ask _why_ he had fainted. (Twice.)

He couldn’t answer that. (He didn't know what the answer was.)

"I'm okay," he said, finally, with a little nod. "A-Asuka Lan- Asuka's fine." _I think._

But what did he know?

Misato rested her chin on her palm, and chewed thoughtfully, grimacing at the bittersweet flavor. Her other hand toyed with the orange peel, twirling it around, her fingers blocking the downturn of her lips from view. "And Rei? She's a bit awkward, y'know. Doesn't know how to talk.

“Hah,” she breathed loftily, eyeing the light fixture above them. “I guess…

“I guess I’m just concerned.”

 

::

 

Tens of bodies hung from the ceiling, vermilion twine wrapped around their necks, cruel imitations of nooses.

And perhaps they were.

Tens of bodies with lily white skin, unclothed and unblemished. Tens of bodies with baby blue hair, ruffled and shoulder-length. Tens of bodies with fringe far-too-short, because peaking behind those stray strands of sky were crimson eyes, unblinking. Kaworu had the inexplicable feeling that they were staring through him; but not in the way that meant they could _read_ him, open him up like a book on the shelf or a frog split down the middle for dissection - no, they stared _through_ him, with blank gazes and blank expressions, like he wasn't even there at all.

And perhaps he wasn't.

He scrutinized the baby once more, fearful of what he might find. Upon further observation, he noticed something that wasn't there before - that same blood red rope, pulled taut, the end protruding out of the side of the baby’s trembling, shaking fist. The rope shot up, higher, higher, to the ceiling, where it disappeared in a flurry of metal.

A pulley system.

And from that metal extended tens of nooses, wrapping around tens of necks, connected to tens of bodies.

Tens of Rei Ayanami.

 

::

 

"I… I – thanks – but, well, I don’t... Uh. I mean, I haven't really... noticed anything, off, yeah?"

"Right."

"You should... probably ask Asuka instead."

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry Shinji. I might just be thinking too much about it.

"I mean, Rei's only a year younger than you. I've been 21 before.

"She's a blooming adult! 'Should be out having fun, and all. But I guess she's too responsible for that, huh, Shinji?

"I guess that means she's perfectly capable.

“Of taking care of herself, I mean."

 

::

 

"Did you know?" He couldn't tear his eyes off of Rei Ayanami - all of her, every last one - but there was no need to, anyway. Lilith was a mental construct. A figment of the mind. No more real than a ghost that couldn’t be seen. A soul even weaker than that of a spirit who never wanted to leave the land of the living.

When she spoke, her voice was hysterical. "Of course," she huffed, almost indignantly. "Of course I knew! So many shells, so many dolls and puppets, and of my own body too! Did you think I didn't know?

"My other half can generate an infinite amount of bodies. They grow in mere minutes, and they'll keep growing. Don't you see, Tabris? You can try making me whole, and if it doesn't work, you have an infinite number of more tries.

"It's the perfect plan."

 

::

 

"So, who's that boy?"

"Boy?"

"The one with the gray hair. I've seen him come here before.

"He doesn't really go unnoticed,” she said with a scowl.

"Oh. You mean Kaworu?"

 

::

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sensed a girl in white, bending over to gingerly pick up a yellow flower in his peripheral vision. Out of sight, out of mind.

A flower?

Tansy. A weed.

Kaworu turned his head. Certainly, the girl looked exactly like the bodies suspended in the air - and yet she wasn't. For she was swathed in ivory-colored fabric, covered up modestly, in comparison to their nudity. Slow, hesitant, bones creaking, skin peeling, as if her paint were peeling off, as if she were an eggshell breaking under pressure, with only a dead chick inside. She swung up abruptly, her head hanging low. Limbs swaying from side to side, like willows in wind, and just as fragile.

Kaworu gulped.

"Who are you?"

The girl's pupils dilated at the question, and instantly peered up at him, inquisitively, almost accusingly.

"Who."

She lurched, suddenly convulsing, keeling over as a creamy white substance poured out of her mouth, flowing on the ground and disintegrating with a soft sizzle and smoke. She was made of candle wax, and the fire was liquefying her organs, draining her insides from within.

"Aannnn-n-nnmm."

The wax around her face began to distort, her left eyeball falling out with a sickly plop, still focused on him, glaring, whispering accusations too terrible to name.

Kaworu wanted to gag. This wasn’t just some other human, it was _more_ than human, and _less_ at the same time. The fallen form of his falling comrade.

"I?"

Her arms were next, disconnecting at the elbow, rubbery, stringy white muscles holding them together, before they pulled tighter, tighter, tighter, and...

 _Snap_.

"I."

Her knees buckled, splintering at the joint, and she fell, mouth open in a silent scream.

"Am."

The wax doll melted. Its head tumbled softly onto the floor, the skin and muscle and bone pooled, and slowly, slowly, disappeared, leaving only a white dress.

 

::

 

"He's... nice."

"Uh huh. Right."

"Polite? Calm, I suppose?

"Like he's got everything in his life together, or something, yeah?” _Everything under control_.

 

::

 

 

From the bodies that hung from the ceiling, a single noose loosened, and a single wax doll fell.

Kaworu watched as it stalked over and picked up the white dress.

Truly, uncanny valley at its finest. While the previous Rei had moved in a way that suggested a fall from grace as caused by age, this one seemed to act tentatively. Like a newborn child.

She slipped it on, and leveled his gaze.

Clearly struggling with forming words, a murmur: "Rei Ayanami."

And then she paced away.

He called weakly, voice cracking. "Lilith, you can't. You can’t be serious."

But by the time the words left his lips, Lilith was already gone.

 

::

 

_An oddity?_

_A human’s emotions, amplified, intensified, magnified to a thousand times its base degree. A delusion. A dream._

_An angel?_

_A human without empathy. An un-human. The antithesis, the enemy, the only weapon against oddities._

_A human?_

 

::

 

Rei Ayanami, was not, in any sense at all, orthodox.

There was something wrong with her, she knew. She could feel it, this unknown energy, buzzing restlessly through her skin, inside her bones, jumping from nerve to nerve like electricity, yet with an ethereal quality that made it more akin to _magic_. She’d see Shinji – on the floor, miserable, and maybe, just _maybe_ , if she could reach out and touch him, that magic would flow into his pores, make him _happy_.

It hurt. It hurt believing that she could do that, that she was the easy fix-it-all for all of Shinji’s and Asuka’s and Misato’s problems, but she just didn’t know _how_.

It happened every week. Suddenly, Rei would fall asleep, faint amongst rows of dusty old books. She’d wake up, and everything would be blank.

There were facts. For instance, her name was Rei Ayanami. She worked at Nerv Library. Misato Katsuragi was her employer. Shinji Ikari and Asuka Langley Soryu were her fellow employees. She was 21 years of age.

She’d pick up a book. That’s one thing her hands could be used for. A customer could come to Nerv and check out that book. It would come back after two weeks. She’d look inside. Her eyes are used for looking. Its title was its title. Its author was its author. She’d flip to the first chapter. The words inside were what it said. The meaning of the words were what she thought.

But what else?

Asuka Langley Soryu would call her, deride her for not following up on their lunch plans, or their dinner plans, or just any plans at all to bring them closer than before, something more than mere acquaintances. _What plans?_

“We made them last week, Wonder Girl.”

She’d stare, then sigh.

“It doesn’t matter anyway.”

But it _did_.

Every week, she’d come closer. She’d learn of Asuka Langley Soryu’s little quirks by watching her with intent, and a minute later she’d wonder why, and then a week later…

Gone.

Oranges were acidic. They burned your tongue. They clawed at your stomach. They made you want _more_.

And then, only _then_ , did they disappear.

 

::

 

 

Only a few minutes of silence had the fortune to pass before Misato promptly stood up, seemingly disappointed that she did not have the chance to meet Kaworu. She gave a hasty goodbye – similar to her rushed entrance – “Tomorrow’s your off day, you take care of yourself, Shinji!” while throwing an orange in the air and catching it with the same hand – an illusion of movement – and then actually leaving.

“Has Misato been well?”

He jumped – _only a little_ – in his seat, and turned to face the girl.

“Rei?” She looked back blankly at him, not acknowledging her name. “Kaworu was looking for you.”

Rei slightly tilted her head to the right, eyes still locked on Shinji’s, and asked, slowly, “Who’s Kaworu?”

“Huh? Oh, you’ve never met him, I guess…” He’d already tried to summarize the past five days – to just, well, _make sense of them_ in any way he could – with Misato, and did not succeed. But Rei wasn’t his employer, or his former roommate. Rei didn’t ask any unnecessary questions, and she didn’t press him for information. Rei was fine. “He’s been coming here a lot lately.”

“Would he be the man with the gray hair?”

“Wait, you have met him before?”

Rei gave a little nod at the question, and before Shinji could ask her _Where_ , or _When_ , or _If you’ve seen him how come he didn’t tell you his name?_ she’d faced the old grandfather clock and, after taking in the little numbers – assuring herself that _what she saw was what was real_ – stated, professionally, “It is five minutes until nine.”

Shinji didn’t look to check – because most often, Rei was right, Rei had her life in check, Rei knew ahead of time and never let anything phase through her – and trusted her. Misato was lenient, anyhow, and by the time it _was_ nine – the grandfather clock struck the hour, and the chimes rang through his ears – he’d already finished cleaning up the little mess there was.

Rei had already done her share of clean-up, and appeared to have left. He’d forgotten a thing or two, he felt – _what was it?_ – and, upon seeing Kaworu step out from between the shelves, gave a little gasp, pulled out his phone, and typed out:

Misato’s fine.

He’d sent the text to Rei – she seemed to value conciseness – and said, to Kaworu, “Thanks. For the oranges, I mean.” They had seemed to stir some sort of previously undiscovered hunger inside of him - and, along with that, a bit of energy. How long had it been since he had eaten something he’d liked?

How long had it been since he had eaten anything at all?

The thought disappeared, and Shinji winced.

“Shinji,” he perked up at his name, “Are you off work tomorrow?”

He followed Kaworu, who was already walking over to the door – and who, despite having asked a curious question, looked as if he was in deep thought – and answered with a noncommittal “Yeah.”

“Mhm.” Kaworu nodded, contemplatively, and held the door open. The bells danced, almost angrily, and a small sense of foreboding rested in Shinji’s stomach. “That’s good.”

“Why?” He couldn’t help but wonder, and asked, rubbing his hands together for some warmth in the cold air. A few months, and it would be winter. How time flied.

Kaworu started, tentatively – _Am I imagining that?_ – “Well.”

They’d both nearly reached the end of the block when Kaworu continued.

“Well, I was hoping you would go stargazing with me tomorrow night. There’s a nice place for it, far away from the urban parts of the city.” Under his breath, he seemed to mutter, “Far away from here.”

“What? Stargazing?” Shinji hadn’t been expecting that – not in the slightest. He peered up at the night sky, still as brilliant as ever. He’d never taken looking at the stars as a hobby of any sort.

“Will you?”

This time, it was almost a plead – he stared, taken aback, at Kaworu’s face: his red eyes which almost seemed desperate, almost despairing, as if he were drowning.

Shinji bit his cracking lip, and threw him a float.

“Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to edit this chapter after spending two hours moving all my books off my shelves whilst simultaneously recording a podcast. There are probably errors. 
> 
> Did Fallacy of Composition just foreshadow the last paragraphs of this chapter? Whoops.


	8. Galaxy Reverie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry belated Christmas.

Somehow, Shinji found himself on the library’s street, despite the fact that it was his day off – that he was free to stay inside his low-rent apartment for the rest of the night, to strain his ears and listen for the soothing sound of absolute silence, to feel _alone_. That was, in fact, what he _had_ been doing for the past several hours, however, yesterday night, Kaworu had asked to stargaze with him.

“ _Ah._ ” He seemed a bit flustered, somewhat relieved. “ _Good. Good! 6:30, then? Here?_ ”

Well, perhaps it had been a bad idea to come ten minutes earlier than asked, though he’d never taken Kaworu to be someone who arrived at appointments at the last possible minute. Other days, he had showed up to the library even before the employees, hadn’t he? Except for that one day, where he had never appeared at all.

“ _No. I wasn’t able to come. The library wouldn’t let me – I suspect it rather dislikes me._ ”

What had he even meant, back then? That had only been three days ago, yet so much time seemed to pass between then and now. The fainting – it had seemed to strange – and those oranges – what did they make them recall, what did they stir within him, _what was that feeling_? That desire, that craving, awoken like a beast inside? Foreign, yet familiar.

Too weird.

The sky was bleeding red, spreading the glow of gold over the abandoned street that made everything look, perhaps not shiny and new, but idealized. A sunlit garden, of unfulfilled hopes and dreams, of wanderlust, of a time before the scramble for the first paycheck. Shinji reached into his pocket.

“Half an hour until sunset.”

His hand snapped up, and he turned his head, meeting Kaworu’s bewildered stare. “Huh?”

Kaworu bit his lip, shifting his eyes away. “Hello, I mean.”

Shinji did the same, pretending to focus on a wall trimming to the side. “Hi.” _Half an hour._ “Isn’t that a while to wait? Not that I mind.”

In the first place, Kaworu was normally very pale – yet, at the moment, he seemed almost sick. His lips tugged up into a hesitant smile, and it lifted off the blanket of unease that was tucked around him. “I was hoping we might walk around, for a bit. Oh, and, before I forget,” he started, sheepishly, “could we exchange numbers?”

A nod was all the confirmation needed. He slid out his phone, and slipped it into Kaworu’s hand. A moment passed before it was given back, and they began their trek.

Although they ambled side-by-side, Shinji kept his head down the majority of the time. It was an instinct born from childhood – from his mother, who always warned him to be cautious, to be wary, to be safe. He lingered on the cracks riddled in the pavement, on the lichen and trash that grew and collected between them, as well as the occasional flower – looking like roses resting in thorns, standing vacantly. Every step he took suddenly became all the more weighted – a centimeter to the left, and something would be crushed. A centimeter to the right, and so would another.

The concrete turned to tarmac, the tarmac turned to gravel. Layers upon layers. The earth below that lay forgotten, the sky above emblazoned with golden haze. The gravel turned to grass, the grass turned to dirt.

A hand pressed down on his shoulder. A finger pointed, off, to the left. “Look, Shinji!”

Shinji looked.

Watermelons dotted the landscape like molehills, vines climbed up and up in their own bubble of edited gravity. Two figures stood, vacantly.

An axe was brought down, quickly, decisively, with unmasked intent. Juice splattered. This didn’t faze Kaworu, who, being careful to step over the green tendrils, walked up to the figures – a man, and a woman. Shinji followed.

The man was frowning, the woman was scowling. She took the axe by the handle, which had embedded itself deep into the cut, and shook the fruit off. The blade was heaved over her head, and then swung down a second time, ripping through the tough outer layer, the shield of green, and into the pinkish mess of guts that lay, tucked inside. Juice splattered over her hands, stuck to her blonde hair, and the axe was made slippery and sticky, but she repeated the action, nonetheless, until the victim of her actions was nigh unrecognizable.

Using a switchblade, the man cut off another watermelon, and rolled it over to her, flattening vines along the way.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he remarked, cheekily, still crouched down. The woman continued her charade. “It’s my garden.”

“That’s very impressive, sir,” Kaworu remarked in return.

“It is, isn’t it?”

He ran his hand over the dirt, as if it would make it any cleaner, and sits, cross-legged, stretching to the side in order to harvest another. He hauled it into his lap, and, with the very same switchblade, whittled two pieces, which he held out for Kaworu and Shinji to taste.

The sun was bleeding red, and Shinji centered his piece in front of his view of it, closing on eye, then took a bite. Not quite sweet. Not at all. Just watery.

“You shouldn’t expect much,” the man remarked, again, whittling out another for himself. “It’s the very tail-end of the season.”

But, then again, it was _very_ watery.

They ate, contemplatively. The woman stopped her display, after a while. Surrounded by fruity remains, she laid, face-up, on the soil, her eyes blank, reflecting the worn-out sky. Shinji winced, thinking of the inevitable cleaning of her once pristine white lab coat. She was watched by all of them – however, whether or not she knew, she simply didn’t care.

Kaworu twirled the leftover rind in his hand. “Is she alright?”

The man seemed to also be in the process of lying down, his arms straightened out behind him. “I wouldn’t really know.”

“Oh,” Shinji mumbled.

“Oh,” Kaworu repeated. “Any theories?”

He laughed. “That’s a weird way to put it.” He indeed continued to fall back, hands digging into the soil, until he too was inert, sprawled out recumbently. “Maybe she got her heart broken.”

Kaworu held his own wrist. “Things like that do hurt, don’t they?”

Shinji took another bite. It was still very watery.

 

::

 

“What’s your name?” Rei Ayanami peered at the woman with the orange hair.

She gave a presumptuous sniff, and turned her nose up. “Asuka Langley Soryu, of course. Don’t forget it.”

“Asuka’s your co-worker!” Another woman hooked her arm around the first.

Rei pointed at her face. “I know you,” she said, frowning. “You are Misato Katsuragi. You are my employer.”

“Just call me Misato!” She grinned.

“Asuka Langley Soryu. Misato.”

“Yeah, and you’re Wonder Girl.” Asuka Langley Soryu attempted to pry herself out of Misato’s tight hold, to no avail.

“Wonder Girl?”

“Don’t be rude to her, Asuka.”

“’Isn’t rude. Just true.”

“It is rude! You can’t call her names.”

“The name is ‘Wonder Girl.’ It’s not exactly an insult, is it?”

“Don’t be condescending to me, Asuka.”

“Yeah, right.”

Rei caught a glint of something metallic.

“It is fine. I don’t care.”

“You shouldn’t say that.”

 _Why shouldn’t I?_ “I am still Rei Ayanami, am I not?’

 

::

 

Shinji scrambled over to the woman, who had, since then, taken out a photograph from her left coat pocket, and held it out in front of her, letting its borders become the shifting sky. “Are you okay?” he prompted, and in return, she shifted her teary gaze from the photo to him.

Her ruby lips were set into a hard line, but her staining eyeliner, and downcast, furrowed brows gave her state away. “You don’t have the right to ask that, Ikari.”

He mirrored her the bottom half of her expression. “Don’t… don’t call me that,” he protested, weakly, as she moved her hands to the top and bottom of the photo, and began to _tug_.

“What other name should I use?” The first tear, a centimeter long, was made. Her long nails, colored to match her lipstick, dug into the glossy paper, creasing it. “A stolen name for a stolen man.”

In a fit of impulsivity, he lurched forward, pulling the picture away from her, all taut lines simultaneously snapping. It crumpled in his hand, and he smoothed it out, best he could. A man glared at him – even though his features were offset from the ruined photograph, the eyes bore holes into Shinji, as if he were the one made of paper.

“Then again,” she drew a labored breath. “You were never really mine to begin with. Sit next to me, Ikari? At least let me have this.”

He did not sit. “Do you want to talk? I’ve,” he cringed, “I’ve got problems too. Bad ones.” He pressed his fingers to the dark circles under his eyes.

Somehow, she had retrieved the photo. “What is there to talk about?” The rip was made. “What can I say through words that would communicate more information than actions? A question, a hypothesis, an analysis, a conclusion – God, I can’t even grasp one of those. Why,” halves are ripped into fourths, “why is everything so hard to understand?”

It instilled a certain type of helplessness inside Shinji – one he was certain he would never be able to comprehend.

“Hah.” Fourths are ripped into eighths. “I’m too old for this.” She balled up the scraps, and tossed it away – this time, Shinji did not attempt to steal it – before dragging her hands down her face, feeling around for sags and wrinkles. “Tell me, Ikari, am I too old? Is that the problem?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m getting to be too old, then. That must be it, isn’t it? How do you stop someone from aging? There’s no way! Nothing short of just outright _dying_. But, then again, the universe will just chug along, won’t it? Won’t it take all your rotting leftovers, and just use them to propel forward to its own icy end?”

She sunk further into the soil. “And, all this time, you won’t know anything about the future. Most of your time is spent either not born or dead. You can make predictions, and maybe they’ll be right – but isn’t that all the more sad? That everything has gotten so predictable? And aren’t you included in that everything? No autonomy, no agency – nothing could save you from that god-awful realization. You’d be destroyed from the inside out by your own want for knowledge. Isn’t that just depressing to think about?” She blithely chuckled.

Shinji nervously laughed along with her.

“Don’t laugh.” She frowned. “I don’t want to think about it.”

 

::

 

“Misato, you are my employer.”

Misato’s face split. “Good! You’re learning!”

“What work do we do around here?”

Asuka Langley Soryu huffed. “Of course you don’t appreciate anything I do. ‘What work do we do around here?’ For a Wonder Girl, you’re really dumb.”

“Don’t be rude to her, Asuka. Whatever do you mean?” Misato pointed to a cart of books. “Look over there, Rei. That’s something to be done.”

Rei Ayanami looked at the cart. “Yes.”

“And there.” Two more carts. “And there too.” A dozen more carts. “Look at all this work to be done!”

“What do you even pay her for?”

Misato laughed. “Hah! Work!”

“Where do you get all the money from?” Rei Ayanami slowly questioned. “This isn’t a public library.”

“Money,” Asuka Langley Soryu sneered. “You mean currency.”

“Don’t be rude to her, Asuka. From the director, of course!”

“The director?”

“The director,” Asuka repeated. “Don’t you know anything?”

“Don’t be rude to her, Asuka. Yes, the director.”

“Wouldn’t you be the director?”

Misato’s face split a second time.

“Where are all the customers?”

“Customers?”

“Customers! Hah! What a riot.”

“You don’t need customers in a production like this,” Misato hummed. “No, no, all the characters are already established. There’s no need for any superfluous extras. Everyone’s already in their set roles. Asuka, go and file those books.”

Asuka Langley Soryu filed the books. When she finished, there came a hundred more carts.

 

::

 

Dusk was slowly setting in. Kaworu’s hands were linked beneath his head, as he lay adjacent to Shinji, watching the clouds disperse as they prepared to make way for the light of the galaxy around them.

“You know, the hill I had in mind was a little ways away.” He spoke quietly, as if afraid to disturb the slumbering plants around them, or, perhaps, Shinji himself.

“Can we stay here, though?” Despite the fact that they were trapped in a fairy ring of soon-to-be-rotting watermelons, Shinji looked strangely at peace. His lungs were cleared of the fungi and muck, his mind of cobwebs and filth.

His eyes flitted back to the sky. “Yeah.”

He missed the smile.

Deep violets and indigoes clustered amongst dark patches of navy – the nighttime blossoms that colored the eve with saturated hues of moonlight. The sun hid behind its sill, and for once, this tiny little corner of the world seemed to bask in its own placidness. Kaworu, too, was smiling. It was this feeling of unruffled serenity that he searched for, that he reached, grasped, _attained_ for Shinji.

Perhaps there would be no calamity to follow the eerie calm.

“Did they leave?” Shinji had crossed his arms over his chest.

Kaworu tilted his head, despite the fact that Shinji could not see him. “Yes. Several minutes ago.”

Now, they were truly alone. Away from Asuka Langley Soryu, away from Rei Ayanami, away from Lilith, away, _finally_ , from the library – its machinations, its schemes, its dreams and desires. Perhaps he was giving himself too much credit – _isn’t defeating oddities all I’m good for? Isn’t it all I’m worth? Isn’t it the only reason why I exist – the only reason why I no longer has anyone to shoulder his burden with?_ And yet, this one time, this single instance was such an accomplishment, such a feat, a showing of resolve, worthy of admiration…

From who?

“Shinji.” Kaworu’s voice was a touch hoarse. He curled his fingers into the dirt. Yes, it was time – there might not be another chance, not when he had finally succeeded at a breakaway from the oddity. And yet, when he glanced over, he could not turn away from what met his eyes – someone at equilibrium, in full serenity, finally, _finally_.

But, it could not last. “Hm?” Kaworu knew too well. Everything must come to an end, the cycle must stop, or else, _or else_ , he thought, in a panic, _Shinji will suffer all the more for my own selfishness._

“Shinji,” he repeated. _Ah_. “I have a confession to make.” _The stars are coming out._

Shinji turned his head to face him. In his eyes, a galaxy spun, reflected – a never-ending spiral, unchanging. “Kaworu?”

Tabris flinched.

Above them, the heavenly river flowed, eternally. Break down the pieces – tiny grains of sand, tiny floating stars, pulled together by their own gargantuan weight. A pebble of fertilizer got stuck under his nail. What might’ve grown from it, in the next year? Would anything?

“In this world,” he ignored the pebble. “In this world,” it scratched against the underside of his nail, but he did not bleed, “there are humans.”

Fertilizer, dirt, soil – ground for things to grow, ground for plants to flourish, ground for people to progress. No use crying over spilt milk. _What am I saying? He already knows this._

“There are humans, and humans, they…” Chemicals. Logically, he knew they were just chemicals – reactions, so minute in scale, a swirling miasma, a miniscule microcosm, little cells making little brains connected to little hearts. “They can create oddities. Pocket dimensions, and the like. Worlds inside this world, sprouted from emotions.”

He ignored the pebble, and brought his two hands together, looking for a pulse he knew was not there. _I’m confusing him. I must sound like I’m spewing nonsense._ _Look at him!_ He looked. Shinji had long since looked away.

“There are humans, and there are angels. Angels defeat oddities, because –“ Huh? What was so bad about them again? They’re just emotions taken to the intense extreme, _and what’s so bad about that?_ “- they’re bad. They’re not healthy, or normal.” Huh? _What right do I have to destroy something so beautiful?_

Logically, he knew emotions were just chemicals – just reactions, little cells making little brains connected to little hearts, objects so vague and undefined that they simply _weren’t_. And yet, when he looked at Shinji, with no apparent expression, he hoped, he _dreamed_ , that one would mar his face – a sign of imperfection, of humanity.

Everything in moderation.

Kaworu reminded himself that, after it had all ended, Shinji would forget about all this. He would forget about oddities, and angels, and continue on his life as a well-adjusted person in a well-adjusted world.

“I am an angel,” _What right do I have to call myself that?_ “That’s my confession.”

 

::

 

Misato fell back, and before Rei Ayanami could run to catch her, a chair was pulled up below her. She pulled out a can of beer, cracked open the tab, and began to chug.

“Where did you get that?”

Misato laughed. “Hah hah hah! Paaaaaaaaah! That hit the spot!” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Why does it matter? It’s just a prop.”

Asuka Langley Soryu handed her a cup of coffee. “Don’t you drink this now?”

“Do I?” Misato took it anyway. “I guess I do! I don’t even like it, do I? Why did I switch to something so bitter?”

Rei Ayanami did not have an answer. She did not want to answer.

“Maybe we’ll never resolve that plot thread. That’s okay, though!"

 

::

 

But nothing was ever that simple.

The heavenly river flowed above them, milky and sweet, a dancing reverie – until the view was blocked.

By a woman. _That_ woman.

She was back, her jewel lips pulled back into a disgusted sneer. She seemed almost made out of ice, cut from crystal, cold, calculating – far from the wreck she had been before.

“Really? That’s it?” The words were sulfurous. “That’s all you have to say?” She kicked his chest. It didn’t hurt.

“That’s not how these things go, you know.” The stars were blinking out, one after the other. “Not how they’re _supposed_ to go. A moonlit night, a star-filled sky – hell, there’s a city full of smog just a few miles away, and you’ve somehow managed to find the perfect spot in the midst of all that scum,” she brought her stiletto down onto his hand, “in service of what? Just to say that?” It didn’t hurt.

“How insensitive can you be? This is the stage for a romantic confession, not some pretentious garbage.” Her stained eyeliner looked like splashes of ink. “Is this some sad attempt at turning heel? Nobody wants to listen to you rattle on about things that don’t matter. Nobody wants to hear about your misery.” She swung out her arms, theatrically. “I’m too busy being swept up in mine!”

In anger, Kaworu bolted upright, swinging his arm into the air, intending to pull her down. He grabbed at her lab coat, and it was tugged off in a flourish, leaving behind a steel mannequin. It toppled, and the lab coat fluttered down, disintegrating into white, powdery sand.

His maw gaped open. He was too shocked, perhaps, to speak.

“Kaworu?” Shinji’s eyes were blank and blue. “Was everything you said true?”

 _I don’t know anymore._ The urge to answer spurred him onto destruction. “Yes.”

“Why did you tell me that?” The grains started moving, on their own – just rattling up and down, _shaking_.

The pebble was still stuck under his nail, along, now, with several hundred grains of sand. Kaworu gripped a watermelon vine, as if to find something, _anything_ , to hold onto, to ground himself with. “You’ve created an oddity, Shinji.”

“Is that so? I don’t know what to think.”

“It’s the library. The library is the oddity – I need to help you, you need to _let me_ help you. I can fix things.” He squeezed the life out of the vine. A low rumble sounded, deep inside the earth. The grains sped up. “I can fix _this_.”

Shinji closed his eyes.

“I would have thought you more aware of the gameboard you’re playing on.” A hand caressed Kaworu’s pale hair, from behind him. He craned his neck. It was the gardening man – he gave a licentious smirk. “You really still think it’s just the library?” He too, blew away.

For a second, the ground _moved_. And then, it continued to move. The plants uprooted – the _hill_ uprooted itself, it grew limbs out of tangled webs of grass, and stood up a terraformed monster, with Shinji and Kaworu atop its skull. They spun up towards the sky, sinking into the abyss, into the depths of a darkness devoid of stars. The city – so far away, more than just a _few_ miles – blinked out – lights from windows, the silhouettes melting into an all-consuming whole, an amorphous blob filling up apartments and offices and buildings, until the buildings became nothing more than a whisper of a memory of a glance.

And, perhaps, then, Kaworu finally understood. He finally understood what Lilith felt – why she tried to stay for so long, despite all the difficulties she encountered, despite how cruel the consequences. For, if such a terrifying creature such as the human mind existed, if such a monster, so base in its desires and needs, could warp reality – could conjure a new one, a new world to reflect its evils – then what horrors would await in something as feared as death itself?

His ears picked up the sound of something tragic, even amidst all the tragedy.

It was Shinji’s sobs.

“Is that it then?” Shinji tried whispering the words, but could not hold back the fervor behind every syllable, and screamed it instead. “Is that the only reason you ever showed up?”

“No, no!” Kaworu stood up, quickly, but was pulled down by the vine in his iron grip. He pried his fingers off – they snapped back, and suddenly, the vines shot out of the soil, the roots following, a mass of moving machinery, like snakes, or a jumbled mess of electrical wires, or pipelines filled with water, or veins filled with blood he did not have. “That’s not true,” he pleaded, still struggling.

“You’re lying,” Shinji covered his ears, as if bracing for impact. “You’re lying, aren’t you? There’s no other reason for someone like you to search for something like me!” Frustrated, his hands tugged at his hair, pulling, _pulling_ …

In the darkness, even slight whispers were amplified, each breath could be heard far and wide, and they pounded at Shinji’s ears. He clawed desperately at them, at the useless appendages that only caused him harm. “Don’t say that,” Kaworu murmured.

“Say what?” The tears, like acid rain, burned his skin. Shinji squinted his eyes – Kaworu, a glowing light, one that was cold to the touch. “I’m weak, I’m pathetic. I don’t deserve anything you’ve given me. I was stupid to think I ever did.”

Kaworu spotted the man’s switchblade, hovering in the air. He made a grab at it, and it cut him – his spotless palm mocked him. A swing, a slash – golden hyacinth and pansy flowers sprouted from the plant’s scars. “Don’t say that!” He traded the switchblade for the woman’s axe. It was splattered with a red pigment – upon further investigation, it was just lipstick.

Shinji did not pay any attention to his battle. He was far too self-absorbed – and why wouldn’t he be that way? “It’s only been six days, and I’m already so attached. How much of an idiot I must be! Asuka Langley Soryu – she was right all along!”

The space imploded in a cacophony of sound. Metal upon metal – the mannequin reshaped itself, stretched into a music box that screeched and rusted what must have been tens of years in but a few seconds. A far cry away from Ode to Joy. It devoured the hilltop – the mountain – pressing soil into piano sheets, rolling out composition after composition, elegies and threnodies, discordant chords, an origami orchestra folding itself before Kaworu’s eyes, surrounding Shinji – its designated conductor.

Paper chains of paper people were cut out of the black velveteen fabric. By what, Kaworu could only imagine. By what, Shinji _had_ imagined – had brought to life. There were only two lines in total, and they searched around for a link, writhed from their lack of eyes, thrashed wildly from the lack of light, until grasping onto Shinji, lifting up his arms, lifting up his entire body from a ground that was being eaten out from underneath him.

The flower petals detached themselves, fluttering like their seasonal brothers: the autumn leaves. Their stark yellow color dotted the darkness, and together, they conjoined, in the very center of the circle, the very center of the world. A bright light – a sun, rising, the star of its very own solar system, blinding, emitting an unbearable heat that signaled inklings of a wide strip of beach, a glittering aquamarine sea, the embodiment of a perfect summer: one that was eternal, everlasting, one that spun, in a self-sustained spiral, and grew, and expanded, spreading its wings over the land, claiming it all for its own.

Luminosity, grandiosity in simplicity, a lucid enigma, charismatic in glory and fame but also through humbled thoughts and scarce concepts. Inevitably, someday, such a light would die, but in that fleeting moment, it was free.

For the final time that week, a new day had come.


	9. Dream Dichotomy (HYPNOPOMPIA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Declared to myself that I would get this finished by the end of spring break – somehow, I’m really early. This story is such a mess, but wow, it’s finally over.

Perhaps, in a time before man, before angel and oddity, all was much simpler.

The first sixteen oddities came spread over ten millennia – Tabris only knew them through word of mouth, sound of mind, little wisps of information he pried gently from the spotless memories of his older brethren. Sixteen, in total – duos of angels and oddities – had birthed in the same instant of the same second of the same time.

In the beginning, he was sure, the world was ruled only by light and dark – and thus it was only natural, of course, for the light of man to turn against itself. The sun of day, the stars of night, both blinded the inhabitants of a grounded earth, haunted them with mirages of the lost being found, the sick being cleansed, the dead brought to life once more.

And then came the opposite – the pitch of a blackened moon that hung its void shadow overhead, drove humanity into caves. All shape with no form, no tangibility. Just figures on the wall, brooding, steeped in their own self-pity, wallowing with eyes to see but nothing _to_ see. When they scrabbled out of their primitive dugouts and dungeons, what must the world have been – with remnants of a disappeared civilization scattered out before them, would they have realized it was theirs to begin with?

In what road could safety be found? The comfort of security, of “home,” reached only by the insane and the ignorant. Even the quiet lulls of adaptation – the third oddity had tainted it, left man to rot in eternal slumber, as flora and fauna advanced themselves.

And what of the glory of the freedom fight? If they were willing to grasp stability by their own hands, would it change anything? Begotten by treachery, and ambition, which corrupted the powerful and tempted the weak – glints of bronze that imprinted living legends and surviving heroes into carvings and paintings on decorative urns.

Reflections in water and mirrors trapped those who could not recognize themselves into caricatures of their own beings. The great unknown of the sea sought those curious enough to brave its depths. Hiveminds caused by pandemics, the curse of a species in imperfect sync that could, with a single thought, be swayed into calamity. The urge to mate, to expand, to fly. The instillation of concepts, of philosophies, of ideologies. The destruction of disagreement – spreading through violence, through thoughts, through generations upon generations of humans.

 

::

 

Shinji Ikari lived in an apartment with locks.

 

It didn’t strike him as being particularly unusual. No, not to any extent. A level of privacy was to be expected, right? Some semblance of secrecy – little things that nobody else knows about, little things that make one person’s life different from somebody else’s.

 

What would it be like, to tell someone those secrets? Would they really be all that special, in comparison?

He blinked up at the familiar ceiling above him, and breathed in his anxiety, the static, the white noise, the _infuriating_ white noise that clawed at his cluttered attic of a head, made it all murky and dusty, filled it with irritating cobwebs and layers of dust. Tugging at his hair, he groaned, and rolled over on top of his blankets to face his door.

Or, his lack of a door. Rather, it was replaced, with something he could not make out, in the dark. He squinted, and then when he recognized it, the sounds became even louder, the sounds of emptiness, of lost transmissions, the white noise roaring from his formerly-lost SDAT. It towered over him, nearly twice his height, and instead of a lock, there were whirring tapes, spinning round and round in circles.

“Shut up,” he whined. “Shut up, please.” The SDAT did not shut up. In retaliation, Shinji gathered up his blankets, and threw them in a mighty heave. They weaved into a rope, and wrapped themselves around the SDAT like a lasso, wrenching it downwards with conviction. It exploded into a mess of metal and plastic parts, the magnetic tape spewing out like coils of intestines, one of the spools, and a screw rolling towards Shinji’s bed to be ignored as he looked on at the destruction. A door stood in its place.

Shinji sat up, and pulled his legs to his chest, then pinched his arm. “Ow,” he exclaimed, tiredly, and then stopped. Solemn, he stared some more at the hurt area, and an incessant buzzing sensation filled his ear – it wasn’t the SDAT, no. The little scrapes of white mocked him, and he pinched it again, this time, holding it. His nails pressed tighter, and the pain started to spread over a few inches. He added two more fingers, and all at once his nails pressed tighter, and so the pain spread over several inches. It wasn’t enough.

The screw clanked against his bed-frame. He peeked over the edge, as if afraid to fall off, and eyed it appreciatively, before snatching it up. It fit snugly into his palm, oversized as it was, and with a tiny gulp, he pressed it into his arm, and then harder, making it break skin, and then harder again, making it draw blood. The sting was exhilarating, but once he spotted that bit of crimson in the midst of all the darkness, his hand flew back, and flung away the weapon – unorthodox a weapon it was, but still, nonetheless, a weapon. The ground devoured it eagerly.

Blood spurted out of the puncture wound. When he tilted his arm to the right, some more spilt out. When he tilted it to the left, it produced the same effect. He flipped it so that it was facing upside-down, it kept pouring, and pouring, like red wine, pooling on the bedsheets, dying it a beautiful color. Two stray drops soaked into a blank space off to the side, and strangely, the sight of them reminded him of someone, or two.

Eventually, the wound ran dry. He flicked his arm, shaking off whatever was left, to let it join the river that ran down from his bed to the floor, then leaned to the side, twisting off a bedpost, and bonking himself on the head.

A laugh. “Hah!” Another hit. “Hah!” A toothy smile. The skin on his forehead split. He brought the makeshift bat down on his knee, and watched as the joint made his lower leg spasm upwards. The bruises that formed looked like watered-down ink.

With a curious mind, he observed the door. The bat was raised in front of him, he closed one eye, and steadied the end straight on his view of the doorknob. What could unlock a lock? A key? Unnecessary. Pulled back the battering ram, hurled it forward like a javelin. It smashed it open, opaque glass shards stained an ugly brown, sucked into the whiteness beyond by a stormy wind. Shinji was flung through the doorframe along with it.

He landed on his face. The pain stung. Lifting up his head from the concrete, he saw red dots making up red letters. **11:30**! What train was leaving at 11:30? **11:30**! It was nighttime. _Beep!_ Something was sounding – an alarm clock, stationed in front of him. He dragged his hand on the pavement, across a yellow stripe that ran for miles, scraping the skin. _Beep!_ Train tracks that ran for miles. The clock flashes. _11:29_! A woman lay on the tracks. Gravel stuck to her skin. _11:29_! He yelled, because it was Misato. _11:29:30_! He launched himself off the station platform. _11:29:45_! The sound of the mighty train roared.

_Huh? What do I do now?_

**_11:30_**!

The locomotive headlamps bore down on him.

He thought of the pain, and awaited his retribution.

It never came.

Apartment after apartment – each train car passed through him, and he stood as room after room after room appeared and disappeared in quick succession. Beer bottles and coffee cups; dollhouses and ropes; metal upon metal upon metal, _crish, crash_ ; a drip, a flower; a void; a sea of red; windows flashing sunsets and sunrises, nights and mornings, stars and clouds, and sometimes, nothing at all.

So entranced by this view, this look into so many lives, that Shinji almost forgot to live his own. Out of the corner of his eye – something was coming, something was running closer and closer, something, _something_ –

Someone was screaming.

He was _pushed_ – it hurt, and he welcomed it, before realizing just how painful it truly was – and then, he was falling, falling down, down, as the traincars flew overhead, crossing the sky once over, twice over, thrice, a galactic railroad, gold-leaf lights dotting an inky sky. But that was far away – worlds away, at least, it must be – and what, pray tell, was close? Why, Asuka Langley Soryu. Asuka Langley Soryu and her brilliant orange hair, and her dainty yellow sundress – yes, a sun. Did suns fall? Why was she falling? Why was she falling _with him_?

“What are you, fucking stupid?” Spit landed on his face, and he grimaced. She seemed to be grimacing as well. Maybe her face always looked that disgusted. Strangely, it felt as though it had been a while since he’d seen her last.

“You’re such a blockhead.” She pinched his ears, and tugged outwards. “An absolute _moron_.”

“Only a grade-A idiot like Shinji could just _sit_ in front of an oncoming train.”

He didn’t dare look back at what lay below – the wind whipped his hair, but it never managed to block his sight. “Asuka?” He gripped tightly onto her yellow sundress, holding close the one thing within reach.

“Langley Soryu,” she snapped, grimacing – _again?_ – at how he clutched her clothes, like some fearful _child_. “The one and only. Did you get messed up,” she flicked his forehead, “in _here_ , or something?”

Yes, she was definitely the sun – he was being pulled in by her gravity, and yet…

“Asuka Langley Soryu,” he whimpered. “Asuka, we – we’re… we’re…”

Her eyes blazed a fiery blue. “Just spit it out, goddammit!”

“We’re falling!” The sound of the wind filled his ears – he could barely hear his own voice over the cacophony. “We’re falling – Asuka, what do we do?” His fingers shook.

Asuka Langley Soryu seemed to contemplate this for a bit. “Who cares, really? Isn’t this all right? The whole world’s below you. What better place to spend the rest of your time, than not on Earth at all?” Above him, she almost seemed like an _angel_ …

The tears stung. “Oh god.” His fingers were numbing. “Kaworu.”

“Who cares where he is?”

“I do!” Even though the wind felt harsher than ever before, warmth spread through his body. “I – I left him behind. I left him for dead.” His gaze wavered away from her mesmerizing eyes – endless depths of perfect blue. “It can’t be. He can’t be dead, right, Asuka? I didn’t kill him, did I?”

“Don’t look down!” Her hands reached up, past her chest. “Don’t look down!”

“What happens if I do?” He questions, defiantly. “Is he down there?”

“Don’t look down!” Her hands reached for his face, and they passed right through, as if she were an ephemeral ghost.

The locomotive roared overhead.

Shinji Ikari looked down.

What he saw: raging waves; flurries of white; rumbling waters, endlessly deep, perfectly _red_ ; Asuka’s reflection, an orb of light; his own reflection, distorted beyond recognition coming nearer, and nearer, _and_ –

 

::

 

But, perhaps –

Perhaps it was all in balance.

Duos of angels and oddities – the oddities outnumbered the angels, the angels grew stronger in return. The oddities were picked off, the angels died, one after another. The endless summer – a shambling corpse. Then, what was Lilith? What was Rei? What was Tabris? What was _Kaworu Nagisa_?

Yes, a balance.

Ahead of him, something shifted, in the heavy darkness. A rumble, through the ground, through the air. A tiny sliver of light.

Kaworu peered through the opening. It was just wide enough to fit a finger. He clasped the edges with one hand, and pulled to the side.

It did not budge.

A balance? Rei Ayanami, then – the only reason she existed at all, was because of Lilith. And Lilith – why, the only reason she still existed, was because of Rei Ayanami.

_Take one away, and –_

He was almost thrown back, when the barriers moved again. His hand flitted over its surface – bumps and ridges. Books.

 _– the other will disappear._ For good?

He could now slip an appendage through the opening. Twisting to the side, he reached out his right hand, and wrapped his fingers around empty hair.

Straining some more, he reached further, until he was unable to feel the cool wood on his palm. There was something on the other side, something which felt like nothing. It would not be Shinji, he knew.

Cold, cold fingers touched his own. Printless pads, a lacking heartbeat – they curled up, and so –

The bookshelves swept back. It was unsure who was pulling who – no matter which, they fell in a heap, together.

“Who are you?” Kaworu looked up from the way their hands fit together – he frowned, resentfully – at Rei Ayanami. Her eyes were wide and inquisitive, but ultimately, hollow in their curiosity. When she was so close – just inches apart, most likely – her skin almost seemed _real_.

But it wasn’t.

“Tabris,” he answered, quickly.

It was her turn to frown. She let out a noncommittal noise – a hum, really – and gripped his hand a little tighter. “Okay.”

They exchanged glances, before Kaworu stood, pulling her up with him, and surveyed what towered before them: curved bookshelves, reaching up to an empty void of a ceiling, interspersed with wild nests of tangled vines and wilting flowers. A maze.

Off, in the distance, an engine roared.

Silence.

“You know Shinji Ikari, right?” He found himself gripping tighter, as well.

“Yes,” she, seemingly impassively, replied.

“Will you help me find him?”

There was a balance – take one away, and the other would disappear. For good.

He looked away, as she answered, resolutely.

“Yes.”

For better or for worse.

 

::

 

Shinji, lying supine on the sand, was still. No words were exchanged between him and the lakeside air, which was stagnant, salty, and smelled distinctly of the iron often found in blood.

The belt wrapped around his high-wasited pants was too long for his frame, and a few good inches of it hung off of the loop. His shoelaces were untied, and he didn’t remember, nor cared to remember, when they became that way. A cross necklace hung around his necklace. It was his to bear.

Shinji sat up. His shoulders groaned, and his spindly forearms trembled as he scrabbled aimlessly for a grip in the sand. He pulled at the necklace with both hands, panting. He gave up, exhausted, rested, and tried again. The sturdy, yet slightly frayed twine burned rope marks onto his fingers. Tears welled up in his eyes. He did not stop to wipe them away.

Giving up again, he sighed, and cried, “nothing to be done!”

Having already exerted the energy to sit up, Shinji tied his shoes. He left his belt alone, and it swayed in a tumultuous, invisible wind.

It was then that Asuka Langley Soryu emerged from the iron-red-sea, preferring to stand instead of sit. “That’s the way it always is with you, isn’t it?” She began berating him. “All my life, I’ve tried to do something, bring some change, but here you are, still brooding.” During this spiel, she began to brood, and made a face. “So there you are again, ugly as always.”

Shinji was confused. “Am I?”

Silence.

Asuka sighed in defeat. “You’re back. I thought you were gone forever.”

“I thought the same of you.”

“What are you even talking about? I can’t understand a single word you’re saying. We’ve never even met before.”

Silence.

“Asuka?”

“Shit.”

Shinji stood up, eyes wide. “Asuka Langley Soryu?”

“That’s not part of the screenplay. Shit.”

“Can’t you just –“ He bit his lip. “Can’t you just speak in words I understand?”

“This isn’t a melodrama. You’re such an – let’s just do it over again.”

…

Shinji, standing on the sand, was still. No words were exchanged between him and the lakeside air, which was stagnant, salty, and smelled distinctly of the iron often found in blood.

The belt wrapped around his high-wasited pants was too long for his frame, and a few good inches of it hung off of the loop. His shoelaces were curled around his feet, with no shoes attached, and he didn’t remember, nor care to remember, when they became that way. Burn scars inched around his neck. They didn’t hurt anymore.

Shinji started to ponder. He can’t think of anything to ponder about. Tears welled up in his eyes. He did not stop to wipe them away.

“Just look at him. He’s crying!”

A hand pulled at his hair.

“What do you want me to say? There, there? Nevermind. Don’t… don’t even think about it. I shouldn’t coddle you like that.”

He winced.

“Let’s just do it over again.”

…

When he broke free from the fallacious claws of hypnopompia, when he blinked away the bleary sea-borne tears from his eyes, when he breathed, brought himself fully into the bitter solace of wakefulness, he stared, straight up, and noted, wearily, that there was no ceiling – it was simply the sky.

This was an inescapable fact. And yet, when he brought up his right hand, and squeezed it into a fist – just once, for it felt insurmountably heavy, hanging in the air like that – he couldn’t help but liken it to a figment of the mind, to wonder if he was still wandering inside his own dreams.

There was nothing to be done, and so Shinji numbered the stars – he decided to begin at the corner of his vision, which, predictably, shifted entirely to another section of the night, and commenced his Sisyphean task, forgetting the number one, starting with –

Zero?

Rei?

It shook him out of his stupor. He noticed Asuka, lying next to next to him, bandages shrouding the left side of her face. Her yellow sundress covered her body, her hair blossomed from beneath her, but, connecting her head to her shoulders, there was a pale stretch of ivory white – not sand, but skin.

Her flesh was not marble. It was soft, and it was malleable, and it felt as though it could tear, even with his shaky grip.

Fingers caressed his cheek, assuredly.

“Do you want me?”

Her flowery scent overrode the stench of blood.

Another body rose from the sand – Misato’s. A tight top, hair bunched up into a messy ponytail, eyes wide and hollow. “What about me?” Her voice was slightly slurred – alcohol stank on her breath, popping off her puffed-up lips.

When they were so close – just inches apart, really – their skin almost looked…

Hands skirted up his arm, tugged at his sleeve, pressed on his chest. Feminine wiles, he supposed. Temptations. It could almost seem real – it was real, to peel back the layers of mud, and absolve them of all their wrongdoings. To reach the sweet prize underneath all the ugliness, the broken brilliance heaped on in thick swaths of magnetic paint. To open up the present that was so readily gifted to him.

A finger swept over his eyelid, and it quietly closed. Her – whose? – thumb pressed gently, and then more, and more, and who knew such a terrifying thing could be so comforting?

He’d almost wished for her – who? - to keep going, until there was nothing left. No eye, no Shinji, just sand, all around. Just tiny little rocks.

He brushed his leg to the side. Underneath the sand, a smooth, wooden surface was revealed – was quickly covered by the opalescence of Misato’s leg, framed by high boots and a calculated dress length.

A phone rang.

The two women flinched.

It rang again.

Shinji took a short breath, and reached into his pocket, retrieving his phone, flipping it open. Three, plus one, contacts on his phone. His cello teacher, Gendo, Misato, and Kaworu Nagisa, the newest. He leveled his gaze at Misato and Asuka Langley Soryu – he’d never gave her number a name, but remembered it all the same – and answered, croaking out a “hello?”

“Shinji? Shinji Ikari?”

“Just Shinji,” he corrected. “Kaworu, is that really you?”

There was a soft laugh, but it was kind of pathetic. “It really is.”

The two women were moving. They had decided that he was no longer worth their time – or, well, at least Misato did.

“Shinji?” Kaworu’s voice jolted him out of his observations. “Are you… okay?”

“Uh,” Shinji paused. “I think so.” He peeked over at the two women, again. Asuka Langley Soryu’s started to glare at him, without blinking. She gave him the finger. Misato, meanwhile, had taken to cupping the red, bloody water, and watching it slip through the cracks, wide-eyed. “I don’t think I could say the same about Asuka and Misato.”

“Well,” Kaworu gave the sigh of a long-suffering being. “That’s to be expected, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Shinji raised his voice a little too high. He reeled it back in, calming himself down, by joining Misato in watching the water trickle down her digits. “What… what does that mean?”

“I can’t imagine possibly explaining, in words that you would understand.”

His heart sank a bit at that. “Actions speak louder than words.”

A short hum of agreement. “They do. Say, Shinji, where are you?”

Shinji surveyed the area around him. He’d never really paid it much attention before. Up above – the train, revolving around a constellation. Scorpio, he identified it as, not knowing how he knew. Straight ahead – Misato, the sea, red and bleak, deep and endless, stretching all the way towards the horizon, no boats in sight, no exit out. To his side – Asuka Langley Soryu, still glaring, and sand, as far as the eye could see. Behind…

Tokyo-03, towering overhead.

“A beach, I think. Just next to the city.” He rubbed his nose.

“You think?”

Out of the blue, Asuka Langley Soryu started to whine. “Let’s just go already!”

It was too late to turn on speaker mode. “Asuka Langley Soryu says I should go. I don’t know where.”

The tide rose, lapping at his shoes. He winced at the thought of soggy socks, and inched forward.

“You shouldn’t necessarily listen to her. But, in this case, I agree. Ah – go into the city. I’ll… find you there.”

What could he do, but listen and believe?

“Shinji?”

“Hm?” He pulled up Misato from the sea, while Asuka Langley Soryu languidly watched.

“Sorry in advance.”

The tops of the glass skyscrapers were blocked by clouds and smog.

“And, watch your step.”

 

::

 

The bookshelves curved inwards, just slightly, like the horizon line, if one turned it on its side. Perhaps – a spiral. What would lie at the center?

The bindings of the books were colored, and bright. They dotted the walls, little splotches of paint and pastel, all cluttered. Deranged, maybe. Like windows.

“Rei?”

When he called her name, she turned her head towards him, her grip tightening, just slightly. He could see his pale reflection in her alien red eyes.

He squeezed her hand. “How much can you feel?”

Maybe he was too insensitive.

“I feel dizzy,” she answered.

Yes, it did feel like they were going in a spiral. A carousel bloated with empty movement, empty promises.

The books were getting harder and harder to look at. They seemed almost blinding, as if reflecting the light of a stolen sun. All the green and yellow and blue tendrils that snaked up and down the shelves were taking on a more dull hue – or, more likely, losing what hue they had. Like they were being petrified, turned to stone.

The tapping of their shoes – was that there before?

Another squeeze. Pliant, malleable. “How far are you willing to go, for Shinji?”

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

They never stilled. “Are you worried?”

Kaworu paused at that. He was – for many things. For Shinji. For what it would take, to let humanity go. In the corner of his eye, he glanced at the being accompanying him. “Worried about what?”

“Maybe,” Rei continued, “we’ll keep walking, forever.”

“That’s a long time.” But how long had he existed? Twenty-two years – well, that was a lie.

Rei accepted the answer with tiresome contemplation, the kind reserved for rainy days. “I wouldn’t know.”

Well, that was how things were.

Wood turned to steel, leather to glass, vines to wires, and cords, and pipes. The veins of a city – only sometimes carrying blood. Stars winked overhead – and then moved; helicopters, planes, satellites. A ringing noise filled Kaworu’s ears, flashing lights, red like Rei’s eyes, red like his own – and suddenly, bars came swinging down on the two of them. He hooked his arm across Rei’s neck, and pulled her downwards, crouching; then lifted a finger, to gently graze the underside of the yellow and black bar. Razor sharp.

He did not bleed.

The train passed by, overhead.

Letting go of Rei’s neck, he braced his arms beneath the bars – pushing up. Despite their serrated edges, they did not cut into his skin, did not make marks.

The oddity was not content to be peaceful – but what else could it do?

Somewhere, a sun was rising.

Kaworu led Rei by the hand, allowing her to carefully step over the rusty tracks, onto pavement. The city folded up around them – the ground cracked, dust rolled in thick waves, and from the cracks sturdy beams rose, and from the beams frames extended, and in between the frames plaster and glass grew, filling in their hollowness. All this, arching above them. A grimy smell – petrol mixed with sea salt.

The faux stars – if they really were there at all, could not be seen, through the obfuscating fog. Smokestacks steadily pumped out heaving fumes, and as they did, they rose higher, and higher, sucking up all the ground beneath them to pierce the fruits of their labor.

Shinji would be here, of this, he was certain – and in an oddity, next to nothing could be. It was, really, all a matter of timing.

The floor fell out from under them, and that was that.

 

::

 

The city was a husk.

Shinji passed by a parking lot – white sand stirred and settled atop the black asphalt, creating parallel lines. At one point, Misato kneeled down, and grazed her finger on the sand. Nothing moved, and all she managed to do was scrape herself. There were no cars to be seen – “How do you know it’s a parking lot, then?” taunted Asuka Langley Soryu, and he silently admitted to himself that he did not have an answer. The wind picked up, the sand blew away, and it wasn’t a parking lot anymore.

The next parking lot had a second story – “That’s so gaudy,” Asuka Langley Soryu simpered, and he decided he agreed. The shadows were mixed up and muddled with the natural darkness of night, and clashed with light cast by the rising sun. He couldn’t see a ramp, from where he walked – yes, this parking lot was truly useless.

As they kept walking, more parking lots appeared, each taller than the last by a single story. They passed by similar convenience stores – _open 24 Hours, every Day, every Week, every Month, every Year!_ , their neon lights flashed. Cheap light novels lined the windows, beneath them, porn mags, and cluttered all around was food – croquettes, and instant noodles, and coffee, soda, bottled water, and umaibou, with other such cent-piece snacks, along with the occasional mandarin orange. On the transparent, automatic doors of each convenience store, a poster was pasted: _WANTED, ALIVE AND WELL_. No price, no name, but a face, awfully familiar.

None of the convenience stores sold watermelon.

And, like the parking lots, the one-in-a-dozen buildings they passed by reached higher and higher. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed void-like rooms – an absence of furniture, an absence of structure, an absence of people. Object permanence – Shinji thought, if Asuka Langley Soryu or Misato moved out of his sight at the same time, he’d feel as though he were the only person who’d ever existed.

And so, naturally, they did.

He observed a room, behind a floor-to-ceiling window, framed by a nondescript building. He didn’t particularly have a reason _why_ , but then something inside caught his eye, _someone_ inside, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

A classroom. All the essentials – rows upon rows of desks and chairs, facing a single one turned towards them at the very front of the space. In the middle desk of the front row – Asuka Langley Soryu; behind the teacher’s – Misato Katsuragi.

“Oh, it’s me.”

Shinji blinked.

Asuka Langley Soryu was still sitting there. He turned his head to the side. Asuka Langley Soryu was also standing next to him.

“Ah! I’m there too!”

Shinji looked back at the classroom, and blinked once more. Yes, there was Misato. He turned his head to the side. Misato was also standing next to him.

He looked back, and then back, and then back, and then back, and then back. Blink, blink, blink, blink, blink.

_This isn’t right._

Something yawned. Spastic static sparked in the unsettled air – the noise became louder, a shadow was cast over him. He looked back again – he saw Asuka Langley Soryu, and then Misato, just a few feet behind the other, and then, a few feet behind her, a telephone pole.

The telephone pole was moving. Were telephone poles supposed to do that? In fact, its wires started whipping around in the air. Were telephone pole wires supposed to do that? In fact, why did it seem like the shadow was growing, that the fearsome silhouette was blocking the tawny sky, that it was coming down, and down, and – he looked back, and hunched over, and covered his eyes – _crash_.

When he peeked through his shaking fingers, the first thing he saw was a destroyed classroom. The telephone pole had pulverized the glass – it lay in a million glinting pieces around him. Every so often, he’d see a flicker of electricity – the top of the pole had dug into the flooring, its wires were strewn over upturned desks. He vaguely processed the fact that all the other telephone poles had fallen as well – _crash, crash, crash, crash_ – one after the other, a huge domino chain, destroying identical classrooms full of identical people which included –

_Huh?_

He looked back, again. Pale limbs stuck out at awkward angles from beneath the pole. Orange and purple hair, that didn’t look orange or purple at all, just red, red, as far as Shinji’s eye could see.

He thought of how empty the city was. He was the only one who existed, in that very moment. He was the one – he was the one who would have to bury their bodies, and nobody would know why, and nobody would know how such a tragedy came to be, and despite that, despite all that, he felt strangely at peace.

“I guess…”

_It was all fake._

_It was all made-up._

“I guess…”

_They weren’t real._

“What an oddity.”

Through clouds, painted with pinks and purples by the rising sun, objects started to fall. Little things, at first – radios, metal meshes – then bigger and bigger – satellites, space ships, heaps upon heaps of trash – _crash._ _There’s no way to reach Kaworu, now,_ Shinji thought, forlornly. “Ah – maybe.”

What if Kaworu was the one, crushed under the telephone pole? Maybe, then, at least, he wouldn’t feel so numb. Maybe it’d shock him – literally, or metaphorically. Shock him hard enough to wake up.

_It doesn’t hurt to try._

“Kaworu?”

Radios, metal meshes, satellites, space ships, heaps upon heaps of trash, and an alien from the stars above. _BUY ONE, GET ONE FREE_ , the convenience stores flashed. One, two – Rei, Kaworu.

It was easy enough for Kaworu to haul himself out of the rubble – he reached out a hand to Rei, then remembered, with a slight twinge of imagined pain, that there were better ways, to help. Shinji wasn’t speaking; he didn’t dare make a sound.

Kaworu lifted his hands up, above his head. He curled them into fists – tugged down. The pinks and purples converged in on him, flowering from between his palms. He tugged down, gritting his teeth. Roots sprouted – they spiraled up, into an empty sky, criss-crossing through the air, an elaborate fabrication, like telephone wires, connecting one person to another, each being to the next. Shinji didn’t dare make a sound – he stared, dazed, watching the ropes bloom from Kaworu’s fingertips; watched, as Kaworu let them all go.

Radios, metal meshes, satellites, space ships, heaps upon heaps of trash, an alien from the stars above, and snow. Shinji didn’t dare make a sound – Rei didn’t, either, even as her pale, porcelain skin started chipping away. _Clink, clink_. She reached up with a steel hand, and gingerly grasped at her baby blue hair. It fell out, one strand at a time.

The ropes fell, too. All at once, even; Kaworu could hear the noise they made – the noises Lilith made – wheezing and rasping, as they plummeted, and crash-landed, coiling around Rei Ayanami. A long, long spiral – spinning inwards, to its center – and yet, when the spiral finally reached its core, Rei Ayanami was no longer there.

And that was all there was to it.

“How do you feel, Shinji?”

The snow had piled up – it covered up, erased the city. Erased Asuka Langley Soryu, erased Misato Katsuragi. Shinji could barely identify Kaworu – he had gray hair, like an old man, and pallid skin, like he could drop dead at any moment.

“I don’t feel much of anything,” Shinji replied. One end of the rope was stationed at his foot. He half-heartedly kicked it away.

 

Kaworu bit his lip. “Oh.” It wasn’t what he expected. He stepped over one row of the red rope – one step closer to the end “Nothing at all?”

 

He dug his foot into the snow, twisting it back and forth. “I just want to disappear. Is that selfish of me? Asuka Langley Soryu, Misato, Rei… they all disappeared. It must have hurt.”

 

Another step. “It’s not selfish.” Another. “I’ve been selfish,” Kaworu admitted.

 

“It’s not selfish,” he parroted. “Less trouble for you.”

 

 

“I’ve caused a lot of trouble for you.”

 

 

“You haven’t at all.”

 

 

“If you say so.”

 

 

 

Shinji picked up his end of the rope. Pieces of string sprang out, red and veiny. “Is this it, then?”

Kaworu tossed him his own end. It fit perfectly in Shinji’s hands. “It is.”

Shinji gripped the rope with two hands. He gave a bitter smile – even though he was so far away, Kaworu was able to see it. “You’d condemn yourself to condemn me.” He swung it up, and heaved it down.

The middle of the rope tugged on the back of Kaworu’s neck. Shinji pulled it, and it pulled him towards Shinji. “Things can only get better from here.”

Still pulling, Shinji crossed one half of the rope over the other. Kaworu’s feet skidded. “Dreaming isn’t so bad.”

They were only a few inches apart, now. Shinji pulled the rope – it had to be painful, so painful that even Kaworu would hurt. “Don’t overdo it.”

Shinji looked into Kaworu’s eyes – he didn’t shy away. They were red, red like the blood inside Shinji’s veins, beating, intensely, fast enough to make up for the lack of any in Kaworu’s.

There was nothing more to it – nothing, but one.

“I loved you,” Shinji choked out, as if he were suffocating as well.

“I know.”

One last pull – as far wide as his arms could reach. The sky was a clear, perfect blue.

 

 

 

::

 

Shinji woke up in a familiar building, albeit one completely destroyed. The glass windows were broken, the shelves were bare, and the roof had a hole blown through. Above him, the sky shifted colors – and the summer heat began to set in.

A sigh – Shinji braced himself up, palms flat, back leaving an imprint on the dusty floor, and stretched. His bones creaked, his stomach rumbled. Another sigh, as he stepped out of the abandoned library, and breathed in the fresh air.

 _I can’t act like a goddamn child_ , he thought. _I’ve got to find a new job._


End file.
